Heart's Desire
by Aerus
Summary: Young Lothíriel is saved from the waves by Éomer, son of Éomund. Thus begins the story of a life-long love between the Princess of Dol Amroth and the Horselord of Rohan.
1. Prologue

**Title: **Heart's Desire

**Genre: **Romance, some angst

**Rating: **T

**Pairing: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings, the storyline and the characters belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. I gain no financial profit by writing this.

**Summary: **Young Lothíriel is saved from the waves by Éomer, son of Éomund. Thus begins the story of a life-long love between the Princess of Dol Amroth and the Horselord of Rohan.

**Author****'****s ****Note: **I've always had a soft spot for Éomer. He is pretty much one of my favourite characters when it comes to Tolkien's world. I can't exactly tell what about him interests me so much – he is just such a fascinating personality. Perhaps it is the fact that I've always wanted to know and read more of him.

Also, his relationship with Lothíriel has long been one of my favourites. I wish Tolkien had written more of the two, but then again this way one can pretty much picture their relationship from the very beginning. My Éomer is very much based on Karl Urban's portrayal in the movie trilogy, complete with the quick temper and serious, even grim, expression, although I attempt to be faithful for the story as it is in the books.

I will go somewhat AUish with my fic and I have taken some artistic liberties, but I try to follow the general timeline and provide extra information if it is needed. According to what I've read, Éomer actually met Lothíriel first during his stay in Gondor, but I have decided to present a different view on how they met and how their relationship came to be.

Now, an important thing to be noted is that I wrote this fic couple of years ago when I was going through a somewhat hard time in my life. You could say that this was some sort of self-therapy at the time. This story is not by any means perfect and at some points it will require some serious suspension of disbelief. I am aware of the problems the story has, although I've done my best to edit it. I suggest you take this with a grain of salt.

As such, I feel that this story should not be taken as seriously, but more as a story meant simply for entertainment or perhaps a plunge into a dream world that I once needed to deal with the every day life. With that in mind, I hope you will still enjoy the story.

English is not my first language, so there may be typos and grammar mistakes. I'd be glad to be notified of them, of course.

**STORY COMPLETE.** _Editing in progress._**  
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* * *

_**Part ****1**_

_True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked. - Erich Segal_

* * *

**Prologue**

_3002, Third Age of the Sun_

_One of Lothíriel's earliest memories was being carried off from the waves by his strong arms. She was only 3 years old at the time, yet she could remember the experience with almost perfect clarity. Later in her life, she learned that near-drowning often left the victim with a life long fear for water. That was not the case with her._

_She did not remember how she got in water, not the feeling of being suppressed by the waves, and even the commotion and anxiety of the people on the shore fell second to what she felt when Éomer, son of Éomund, caught her and carried her to the shore. For the years to come, Lothíriel would remember the tall boy, his long fair hair glued against his head and a serious expression on his young face, saving her life. She never feared the sea after that, but always connected it with her first memory of Éomer – his swift aid, his safe arms holding her. For a moment, their gazes met, and no matter how long she lived, she always remembered that one look into his eyes._

_There are some things in life, sometimes unexplainable, that you can't experience with another person without a bond being forged between the two of you. That was what happened to Lothíriel and Éomer that day on the white shores of Dol Amroth. He was eight years older than her and a horselord's son, born and come from a very different world than hers, but after he saved her life one was never seen without the other in the fair city of Dol Amroth._

_Saving Lothíriel's life also made Éomer the ruling Prince Adrahil's and her father's, Prince Imrahil, favourite person for as long as Éomer stayed in the palace of Princes. Adrahil promised the young horselord would always have friends here – not just Lothíriel, who appeared to absolutely adore her life-saver. It was not the same kind of affection she felt for her older brothers, but that was something she only realised much later._

_So, when Éomer's visit finally came to an end, no one was as despaired as Lothíriel. She did not want her friend to leave – she wanted him to stay here and perhaps become a Swan Knight. But who would listen to a little girl? After all, Éomer was a nephew of the King of Mark and once he became a man, he'd be needed in his home country. And when the day of parting came, the boy hugged her tight and gave her a small wooden horse: he had carved it himself._

_"This is Felaróf, the horse of King Eorl the Young. They say there never was a steed as great and loyal as Felaróf was to his master. May it remind you of me in the times to come", the boy said quietly and wiped tears from Lothíriel's cheeks. The girl flashed a wide smile to him then, hugging the small wooden horse to her chest and promised to take good care of it. She wished she could have somehow explained that she would remember him anyway, but she was still a small girl and did not have words for such grand feelings. A small smile quickly visited Éomer's usually sullen face, and then he was gone, and Lothíriel watched him ride away with his people - the riders of Rohan._

* * *

_King Fengel of Riddermark had but one son, Thengel. Fengel was known and remembered as a greedy man, grown up as a spoiled boy and youth. His son Thengel was as different from his father as night was from day: he was charming young man with open heart and thirst for freedom. Long he would quarrel with his father, until the prince finally had enough of constant battles in his home. After one particularly harsh fight he left the realm of horselords and settled down in Gondor with the family of his mother who was from that land. There he met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen: Morwen Steelsheen of Lossarnarch._

_Morwen was seventeen years younger than the Crown Prince, but the pair soon fell in love and were married. Despite of their age gap Thengel and Morwen had a happy marriage, and through her he became more and more entrenched to the Gondorian society and lifestyle. He dressed like a Gondorian lord, being distinguished only by his fair hair and tall build when compared to the dark-haired people of Gondor. He also learned to speak Sindarin – a language he insisted his children would learn, too._

_And then, as if to cast a dark omen for the future to come, his father died._

_Thengel had become so adjusted to his new home that at first he did not even want to return home. His heart was now planted deep in the Gondorian soil. But duty's call could not be ignored, and Thengel was reminded that this responsibility, given to him in birth, was of greater importance than his own personal wishes. So, with heavy heart, Thengel packed up his growing family and moved back to the lands of his ancestors. He never saw Gondor or beautiful Lossarnarch again._

_Fair Morwen bore five children to her husband, amongst them the Crown Prince Théoden. As the Queen of the Golden Hall she had her hands full of work. The King's household needed to be attended to, and she had five children to look after and raise. Thus it was near impossible for her to visit her old homelands. Still, no matter how long she lived, she always preserved her heritage and her identity as a daughter of Gondor. To Morwen, it was important to keep the connection between her old home and Rohan, even if she couldn't see her beloved home anymore. So she took good care of her children being raised with the knowledge and sense of their Gondorian ancestors. She even sent her daughters to visit her relatives and to stay there for long periods of time. She insisted naming her youngest daughter in the ways of her ancestors, giving the girl a name more befit for a Gondorian maiden: Lótesse. Morwen did not just pass her cultural heritage to her children – from her, some of her descendants received height and elegant build that came with Númenorian blood, or as in Prince Théodred's case, dark hair and grey eyes._

_After Morwen, Lady Lótesse retained the close connections to the families of her mother and her father's mother. She carried on with the custom of preserving the Gondorian heritage among the children of the royal family, visiting her mother's homeland as often as she could and trying to teach Sindarin to the children of her siblings. Lótesse became good friends with Lady Ivriniel, Prince Imrahil's older sister who was only a year older than Théoden King. Lótesse herself never married, so she doted on the offspring of her brother and sister. After Théodwyn's death, Lótesse came to be a kind of a mother to two children her sister had left behind: Éomer and Éowyn._

_The boy and his sister lost their parents in a tragic way. Éomund, the First Marshal of Mark, met his death in a battle against orcs, and his death cast his wife into dark depression. Day by day her family watched as she wasted away and not even her children could bring back her will to live. That same year, Théodwyn was laid beside her husband in a grave, while her two children watched with sorrowing eyes. Théoden pitied the two orphans and took them in, to raise them like he would raise his own children. But he was the King of Mark and thus wasn't always able to attend to his sister's children. Much of the parental duties fell in Lótesse's hands._

_So it came to be, as Lótesse watched the two grief-stricken children, that an idea came to her: why not send the orphans away from Rohan for a while, to have new refreshing winds blow the dark clouds away? Théoden approved of the plan, for both of them had the blood of Eorl and were children to a renowned Marshal. And after Théodred, Éomer was next in line of succession to throne. The boy was important and needed an extensive education. What could be a better idea than to send the boy and his sister to Gondor, where some of the ancient wisdom of Númenor still lived?_

_And so it came to be that, perhaps by fate, Éomer son of Éomund and his sister Éowyn were sent to the white shores of Dol Amroth, where the Marshal's son would first meet Princess Lothíriel._

* * *

**A/N: **I know we're not really getting to the actual story yet, but I feel that this prologue was needed in giving some backstory to the actual tale. As far as I know, the history of the characters should be correct (except for Lady Lótesse - I'll explain her in a moment). I wanted to give plausible reasons as tow why young Éomer would visit Dol Amroth, so having him have this aunt who has close ties with Gondor was in my opinion a good solution.

Lady Lótesse is not essentially Tolkien's character. However, he did write that Thengel and Morwen had five children together and only Théoden and Théodwyn were named. So I picked one of those unnamed daughters and gave her a name and purpose in my story. I feel that Morwen may have very much longed for her home, so to me it would make sense that she'd try and preserve her ties to her birth land, and even name at least one of her children in a Gondorian way. As for Lótesse's two other sisters, they are not important for this fic and they will not be making an appearance.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter ****1**

_March __3008, __Dol __Amroth_

It is said that sometimes the events of early childhood make such an impression on a young mind that the person in question carries that event with them all their lives. Being saved from the waves by Éomer, son of Éomund, was that kind of a thing for young Princess Lothíriel.

Her family first expected that she would soon forget all about the incident and Éomer, but their expectations quickly proved to be wrong. The girl often talked of the boy, how she had all kinds of plans for when he'd come to Gondor again, and she carried with her the small wooden horse he had made for her all the time. It was her favourite toy and she took good care of it, better than small children of her age usually do – certainly a curious choice of toy for a princess. Lothíriel often dreamt of Éomer returning Dol Amroth, even though she eventually came to realise that as the nephew of the King and a son of the First Marshal, Éomer had better things to do than visit her. So, perhaps it would be a better idea if _she _would visit _him! _The idea grew in her mind and became larger, no matter how many times Father told her that such a journey to Rohan was too dangerous for a small girl like her.

"Éomer wouldn't probably even remember you", said her eldest brother Elphir. "You're just a little girl who wouldn't stop bothering him when he was visiting here. Why would he give you anything more than a passing thought?"

Though Elphir's words were hurtful, Lothíriel didn't say anything – even if she did want to point out that Elphir was just being jealous. During his time in Dol Amroth, specifically after the incident by the seaside, Éomer had always seemed to be more interested in spending time with the little princess than with her brothers. Her second oldest brother Erchirion, who was something of a bully that time, said Éomer was a weird boy to prefer playing with small girl when he could have had sword fights with her brothers, and that he wouldn't have wanted to associate with such an odd outlander anyway. Erchirion did not know it at that point and nor did Lothíriel, but Éomer had just lost his father in a battle against orcs – in such situation, playing with swords was perhaps the last thing the young Rohir wanted to do.

Time went by, and it was often that Lothíriel would climb up the walls of the city to see if a small party of riders was nearing the city. Sometimes riders came, but they were mostly just messengers from Minas Tirith, or sometimes even from Rohan, but usually the letters would be for Grandfather Adrahil or Aunt Ivriniel. But every now and then Lady Lótesse, whom Lothíriel did not remember very well from Éomer's visit, would send greetings from the young Rohir. That always made the little princess very happy, although Erchirion rolled his eyes: according to him, it was probably just Lady Lótesse indulging the foolish little girl.

Then one day, soon after Lothíriel's ninth birthday, a letter came.

Lady Lótesse was gravely ill and it looked like she would not make it. The healers had said she would live few months at best. The woman did not want anything more than to just see her friends from Gondor one last time, especially Aunt Ivriniel. Aunt had always been very close to Lótesse, so she quickly organized a party to visit Rohan's capital, Edoras. When such a chance appeared, Lothíriel became so excited that she feared she would explode. She begged father to let her go, to see the land of horselords and maybe Éomer, too. Her grandfather Adrahil and her own father Imrahil were reluctant at first, because they thought the journey would be too dangerous for the little girl. But then a surprising and a rather formidable ally appeared, as Aunt Ivriniel began to demand that Lothíriel be taken among the entourage. The girl herself knew nothing of how the topic of the unmarried Prince Théodred was discussed and how an alliance between Gondor and Rohan was more important than ever. True, Lothíriel was a child still and it was years before a marriage could take place, but it was a reasonable idea and one that Ivriniel hoped to discuss about with Théoden King. In fact, her youth was an advantage, for it meant an early introduction to the Rohirric culture would prepare her for future marriage with the heir to the throne. Royal princesses were valuable currency, and Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, would absolutely agree about that.

So, a day before the departure, Aunt Ivriniel called Lothíriel to her chambers and told her the great news: the princess would join the entourage and travel to Rohan, land of the horselords.

There was no way she could ever have explained what joy she felt for the prospect of seeing Éomer, son of Éomund, once again.

* * *

If Lothíriel had expected a highly comfortable journey from the White City, she was soon proven wrong. Of course she had already received many riding lessons on her beautiful white pony she had named Niel, but she had never spent an entire day in the saddle. So by the time they stopped that first day of riding after they had left Minas Tirith, Lothíriel was aching all over and impatiently asking her aunt if they would arrive very soon. That was a silly thing to ask, of course; you did not ride from Dol Amroth to Edoras in one single day. Unless, perhaps, you happened to be in the possession of a dragon.

But when her body began to get accustomed to riding, she started to take in what she saw around them. Lothíriel had never travelled far from her home, except for Minas Tirith where her family had an extensive house for times when they would visit their relatives there or when her father had business with Lord Denethor. And even then, those trips were usually made on ships so the most she had ever seen were the riverbanks of Anduin.

The party tried to keep up a good pace, for who knew how long Lady Lótesse would be strong enough to cling to this life? Still, riding fast was not an actual option – that seemed to be standard for travelling royal parties. There were the heavily armed Swan Knights Grandfather had insisted sending along to guard the travellers, servants, personal maids, tents for shelter, entire chests of clothes, food supplies and hundreds of other things that needed to be taken with the group. The wagons containing the supplies rolled forward with annoyingly slow pace.

Still, Lothíriel couldn't help but notice the beauty of the lands of the Men. The fertile fields, the tall and proud people, the farmhouses and villages... It was a land one would expect to be full of life and happiness, yet even young princess could sense the shadows in people's minds and eyes. The darkness was becoming thicker in the east, it was said, and the rumours of marauding orc bands wreaking havoc on innocent people reached even Lothíriel's ears. The future was becoming so dark these days, with no certainty of a break of dawn at the end of it. Who would rise up against the darkness? Courageous Elven lords of old were long gone, and none of the remaining seemed strong enough to fight against the forces of evil. There was no Eärendil now to sail West and ask for the help of Valar. The days of heroic deeds had ended long ago already.

But as the party travelled deeper into the lands of the Riddermark, Lothíriel could feel the shadows falling back as she took in the beautiful sight of vast grasslands. The wind that had no hint of the familiar scent of the sea, blew through the wide plains and tousled her hair with mighty blasts. The sky looked somehow larger than back home, with great mountains reaching for the sky, and suddenly she could understand the horselords' love for this land. She even saw a small pack of horses feeding on fresh grass, guarded by two riders, and she waved at them enthusiastically. It was spring and everything smelled new, and Lothíriel felt an unexplainable joy bursting inside her. Seeing Rohan for the first time left an unforgettable impression on young princess.

There was a small group of Rohirric riders waiting for them on the border, all armed and armoured. Prince Adrahil had insisted upon sending a messenger before the actual group to ask the permission to pass through Mark; according to him, it was a polite thing to do. Lord Denethor may have his opinions about the riders of Rohan, but Adrahil (and his son after him) had always regarded them highly and insisted on treating the northern allies in according manner. King Théoden had sent some of his riders to accompany the party of 25 Swan Knights, several members and relatives of Prince Adrahil's family and their servants. The young princess had hoped that _he _would be there, to receive her and to recall that day by the sea – the day Lothíriel herself remembered so well. But when she sat up on her saddle and tried to find him with her eyes, she could not spot him amongst the riders Théoden King had sent to escort Lady Ivriniel's entourage. Disappointed, Lothíriel could feel her heart sinking. She had been almost sure he would have been waiting for her, just as anxious as her. What if Elphir had been right and her friend wouldn't remember her?

During their journey to Edoras they saw many Rohirric villages and towns. It was a fair country, built on the windy plains and the bravery of the people. As they advanced and left the more dangerous borderlands behind, it seemed that the atmosphere became more carefree too. The people of the villages came to greet the travellers, but most of them did not know enough of Westron to actually communicate – Lothíriel, who was already planning to try and learn their language, could understand only some of their well-wishings. Somehow she felt welcome here, as if she had been on a long journey and only now returned the place she loved and regarded her own.

Edoras, the capital of Rohan, of course struck the young princess with wonder and delight. The city was built on hill that shot up on the plains, almost in the very embrace of the mountains. The Golden Hall stood on the highest top with its strong walls and golden ceiling that looked like it was on fire in the light of afternoon; the sun hit the ceiling of the King's house in such way that made it appear like it was blazing with embers. Lothíriel almost believed the King's hall was on fire until one of the horselords accompanying them explained in heavily accented Westron how the roof's gilded surface would give such an appearance. When they came near the gate of the city, they rode past nine and seven mounds, covered by delicate white flowers. As the horselords rode past these mounds, they bent their heads to honour those who lay under them in eternal sleep. These were the tombs of past kings, explained the same horseman who had told Lothíriel of Meduseld's gilded roof.

Though it was nothing like Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth, Lothíriel couldn't help but feel this great awe when she saw the capital of Mark. This was where the great horse kings of old had lived. This was where Éomer probably lived, or at least this was the place he received his orders from. Maybe he was here, amongst the King's guard and riders. Had it been up to Lothíriel, she'd have raced up to the King's house and left Aunt's entourage behind – it had been five years she had last seen her life-saver, and time could not go just fast enough until she met him again.

The company rode up to the Golden Hall, the beautiful estate on the top of the large hill. Meduseld rose up there, as if it was the very extension of the great hill. It was nothing like the graceful stone palaces back in Gondor and Dol Amroth, but the little princess found she liked it. There was warmth there, the kind you never found in places built of rock. The eloquent carvings, knotworks and the recurring horse motifs, the images of the sun, the colourful flags... The estate belonged here so absolutely that one could almost believe it had just grown from the ground.

The other dwellings were not as eloquent as Meduseld, but the similar imagery was repeated on the facades of the houses. People dressed in warm and down to earth colours as if the mere richness of them could keep away the chill of the ever-present wind: different shades of green and brown, deep red, bright gold and yellows. While Gondorians often preferred simple majesticity, the visual culture of the Rohirrim was rich and voluminous.

The people of the city came, of course, to see the visitors. Rohirrim were strong-looking, fair-haired people with bright eyes and a sense of ages past around them; it was as if these men and women were somehow more strongly connected to the heroic ages than the Gondorians were – as if the times of yore, the times of Eorl the Young, were still present. Lothíriel wouldn't have been very surprised if the legendary king would have suddenly ridden down to meet them, on his beautiful horse Felaróf.

In the yard of the King's house, stableboys were already waiting for the company. Suddenly the courtyard was full of commotion and rush, and the horses were guided to the King's extensive stables. Then the guests were escorted to the high steps that led up to the terrace and the great door of the Golden Hall. And inside the house of the kings, on the the throne, sat King Théoden; a tall, wise man, experienced warrior and a good ruler of his people. The colour of his hair was that of wheat in August and his blue eyes were kind, and though he was every bit as regal as the princess would have imagined, she also felt that it was easy to like this man.

Later on, Lothíriel did not remember much of the greeting ceremonies. She could only think of that first sight of Meduseld: the same richness she had witnessed already outside, the elegant golden knotworks adorning wooden columns and the far back wall of the great hall, the beautiful pennants and tapestries hung on the walls... Behind the throne (which was a piece of art itself) there were the banners of the Royal House, all picturing the sun and horses – the symbols of this beautiful land. There was an open fireplace on the very centre of the hall and torches on the holders on the columns. There were triangular windows near the ceiling, so during the day the hall basked in beautiful golden light, and by night it was only illuminated by torches and the fire on the open fireplace, making the rich colours somehow even warmer and stronger. There was so much to be seen there that she barely noticed anything else.

The young princess was soon reintroduced to Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and a niece of King Théoden, with whom Lothíriel would share room during her stay in Mark. Éowyn was few years older than the Gondorian princess, but she already seemed much more like an adult than a young girl; there was solemnity and dignity to Éowyn grown women could envy. She was tall, like her uncle, with the light hair of her people and graceful bearing passed down to her from Morwen Steelsheen. She was already showing signs of great beauty, yet also will as strong as steel that sparkled in her grey eyes. No doubt she would be a formidable woman one day. Éowyn's room was simple, but comfortable; there were not many pieces of furniture, but the window was big and so the scarcely decorated room was bright and had an airy feel to it. It cast something of a contrast to the main hall of the King's estate.

With ordered precision Éowyn helped Lothíriel to settle down. A truckle bed was brought for the younger girl, with her chest that contained her clothes and other important possessions a daughter of royal family possibly couldn't travel without.

"I am sorry if I disturb your peace. I did not mean to cause such disturbance to you", Lothíriel felt obliged to say when her things had been settled down. With Éowyn's serious face one did not always know how she felt about things, and even though she was very young still, she already had that aura of inviolable dignity that ignited in others a desire to win her good regard.

"Do not worry about it, Princess. I'm honoured and pleased to have you here", Éowyn only said and offered a polite smile to her guest. Lothíriel hadn't yet heard all about the tragic history of the other girl's family, but she did know that something bad had happened to Éowyn and her brother – something so bad that it had made the two siblings grow up too soon. For that same reason, Lothíriel wondered if it would be somehow offensive to ask about the older girl's brother. She had been dying to ask about Éomer and whether he was here in Edoras, but hadn't yet gotten herself to ask the actual question.

"Honour is all mine", Lothíriel said as well as any noble lady from Gondor could, pushing away thoughts of the friend she was so desperately hoping to meet again. Aunt Ivriniel would have been pleased had she seen.

Finally, the young princess gathered her courage and lifted her eyes to meet Éowyn's keen grey eyes.

"Is... is your brother here, Lady Éowyn?" Lothíriel asked, her voice meeker than she had intended. When Éowyn smiled a bit, she relaxed.

"I thought you would never ask! You two were so good friends when he and I visited your city that I nearly thought the first we would see of your entourage would be you running in, demanding to see my brother", Éowyn said, smiling as she spoke, and the princess blushed.

"He's my friend", she just said quietly, trying to hide behind her dark hair.

"Of course. But I'm sorry to tell that Éomer is not in Edoras right now, however. He is in Aldburg at the moment, but he should return in a few days. Aunt Lótesse always adored Éomer so much..." Éowyn said. At first, she almost sounded glad, but when she mentioned her dying aunt, her voice turned quiet and sad. It must hurt, Lothíriel thought; she herself couldn't imagine life without her own Aunt Ivriniel.

"I'm sorry about your aunt", Lothíriel said, hoping she could offer some better comfort for the other girl. Éowyn nodded quietly, and the other girl couldn't come up with anything else to say. Obviously the topic was too painful for the King's niece, and who could blame her for it?

* * *

Those first days in Edoras Lothíriel spent mostly just exploring the city and Meduseld. She loved wandering in the shadowy naves of the great hall, especially by evenings. She would stare at the beautiful tapestries hours after hours; the eloquent needlework was something to envy. Each tapestry had a story of its own to tell from the past of the horselords. She especially liked the one that had a beautiful Shieldmaiden, her fair hair cut short (Aunt Ivriniel would have been horrified by such a hair style) and wearing a complete warrior's armour. For some reason, the woman reminded Lothíriel of Éowyn. There was same kind of unyielding strength about the Shieldmaiden's face that was already apparent in the King's young niece.

She often sat on the stone terrace of the Golden Hall, peering off to the distance in case a band of riders was nearing the city. And when a group of riders appeared on the wide plain, her heart would start beating faster, and she would wait excitedly until the warriors reached the courtyard. She searched for his face, but he never was amongst the arriving horsemen. Disappointed, Lothíriel would return to whatever she had been doing at the time.

Lothíriel even succeeded in making some friends amongst the children of the King's men. Many of the girls would enviously touch Lothíriel's straight, midnight black hair – an uncommon sight here, where most of the people seemed to have hair as light and wild as the wind blowing through the grassplains. They were polite enough to take her with them to their games, although sometimes Lothíriel felt bit of an outsider as she could not understand Rohirric that well.

The princess did not see much of her aunt, who spent most of her time by Lady Lótesse's bedside, but Lady Ivriniel demanded to see her at least daily to be sure that Lothíriel was behaving in a manner fit for a Gondorian lady. After all, as aunt liked to say, the princess was not just presenting herself or her family here, but all of Gondor. It was important to appear regal and graceful. As for the Swan Knights who had escorted them to Edoras, they seemed to be very much enjoying the chance to get to train with horselords on their training grounds. And what was the better place to receive exercise on riding and horses than the Mark? Lothíriel could only imagine what kind of a disappointment it would be for her pony when they returned home and the animal would not receive the kind of care it received in the hands of Rohan's best horsetenders.

But even though Lothíriel found herself enjoying the stay in Edoras, there was still one thing she waited desperately for: meeting Éomer once again. What if he wouldn't recognize her? What if he had forgotten about her? Or worse, what if _she _didn't recognize _him? _What would she say to him, anyway? She would have liked to ask Éowyn about him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Éowyn was obviously having hard time with her dying aunt – surely she would find it bothersome for an outlander like Lothíriel asking all kinds of questions.

Then, when about two weeks had gone since Lothíriel had arrived in Edoras, a small group of riders arrived in to the city, and all her fears of if she would even know him after five years were wiped away when she spotted a tall young warrior with piercing dark eyes and serious face – the one she could never forget.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this is moving rather slowly at the moment, but I promise Éomer will be making an official appearance in the next chapter.

Also, I'd like to thank all who took time to comment on the story. Feedback and suggestions for improving this fic are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter****2**

Even though Éomer had changed a lot since the two had last met, Lothíriel knew him the moment she lay eyes on him again. He had grown tall, of course – even though he was only 16 years old now (soon to turn 17), he was already as tall as the grown men he was riding with. He had lost most of his boyish looks, although his face was not yet that of a man. Still it was to be noted that he was a handsome youth, and though Lothíriel herself didn't yet understand much about things like that, it was obvious that many a young girl would cry herself into sleep because of those dark eyes.

Lothíriel searched desperately for his gaze, wishing him to remember her. His eyes fell on her, and at first he seemed uncertain (she thought he probably wondered who she was and why was she staring at him), but then the light of recognition lit his face. His mouth that had been an unfriendly line until now, curled up in a smile that seemed to change his face utterly; his features became softer, gentler, and it was as if some inner light shone from him when he smiled.

"Princess Lothíriel!" he shouted and practically leapt from the saddle to meet the young princess. Dropping down on his knees on the front of her, the young Rohir embraced her tightly – he smelled of wind, leather and horses, and there was a faint scent of rust from his chain-mail – and then gently pushed her back, to see her better. Her heart felt too big to fit her chest, it was pounding with joy and all she could think of was that _he __had __known __her. _After all these years, Éomer still remembered her!

"What are you doing here in Edoras? My, you have grown so much!" he exclaimed, his voice full of animation that, judging by the expressions of his comrades, only rarely occurred.

"My aunt wanted to see Lady Lótesse, so she travelled here all the way from Dol Amroth. I came with her because I wanted to see y-, I mean, Rohan. We've been here almost two weeks now!" Lothíriel explained so quickly she very nearly stumbled over the words – an embarrassing thing to do for a dignified princess. Éomer didn't seem to mind, though.

"You should have sent word for me to Aldburg so that could have I come sooner!" he said and hugged her again, and his arms felt just as strong as on that day on the shores of Dol Amroth. He looked like he was about to speak again, when one of his companions shouted something in quick Rohirric. Éomer seemed a bit disappointed when he answered the other man. Then he turned back to the princess. "Princess, I need to take care of my horse and some other things, too. And I'd imagine my uncle and sister would like to have a word with me now that I'm here in Edoras. Would it be fine with you if I joined you for the dinner?"

Lothíriel was a bit disappointed, as she had hoped they could immediately start catching up and telling him all about her journey here. But that was a selfish wish, and she couldn't expect him to just abandon his duties at the sight of her. There would be plenty of time to talk with him later.

"Of course! I'd be glad to dine with you", she said and dropped into a fine curtsy, just like her aunt had taught her.

"Excellent! I'll meet you later, my lady", he said with according smoothness. Then he offered her a grin, patted her arm and strode down the stony steps to attend to his horse.

Needless to say, Lothíriel beamed.

* * *

"What is up with young Lord Éomer?" asked the young maidservant from her friend as the two of them were preparing the tables of the great hall. Neither of them had noticed Lothíriel, who was sitting by her favourite tapestry of the Shieldmaiden. "I can't remember when I've last seen him on such a good mood."

"It's that princess from Gondor. I heard that the moment he laid his eyes on her, all that usual brooding fell down, and Hild from the kitchens saw him when they met. She says that he has a smile to die for", the other woman said in a meaningful voice.

"But she's just a little girl!" the first woman said, unbelieving.

"I know. From what I understand, he met her when he was visiting Dol Amroth some years ago", the second one explained. "And let me tell you, in a couple of years that girl won't be so small anymore."

"It's because of that dark hair, isn't it?" her friend sighed, but the princess thought to herself that someone should have told the maid that had she come to visit the southern parts of Gondor, her fair looks would have caused similar reaction there.

"I heard that she has Elven and Númenórean ancestors. Her people were highly cultured long before we even came across our first horse. How are the ordinary girls like us going to compete against _that?_" the other muttered dryly.

"I can think of few things", the other said and both women gave a long, hearty laughter before they went along their duties.

Lothíriel didn't exactly understand the meaning behind the words of two women, but it made her feel a bit uncomfortable. Furthermore, Aunt would probably have told her that eavesdropping was rude and that she should be ashamed for secretly listening to others' conversations. So she decided to sneak away and leave the maids into their gossip. The dinner would be served soon, anyway, and she would have to change her dress (the one she had worn most of the day had gotten dirty when she had stumbled and fell when she had been visiting the city's markets. At least on that particular matter she did not live up to her Elvish ancestors).

Every night, the great hall seemed to burst and beat with life, as the King's men gathered together for supper. Lothíriel couldn't really forget the first dinners she had there – she almost had forgotten to eat as she had stared everything around her and tried to comprehend how such a place could exist. It was never this rowdy and lively back in Dol Amroth, and after all, her family mostly dined alone in the peace of their private dining room.

However, this night Lothíriel did not think of the differences between Edoras and her home. Her mind concentrated on much more important matters, like Théoden King's nephew.

Éomer had taken off his heavy mail and armour, but he still carried a sword on his belt, much like the other warriors. He was dressed in a plain tunic and brown breeches, and a faint smell of soap clung to his dark golden hair. He was young, but he was already becoming an accomplished warrior: he told her of his battle training, in such a way that it didn't sound like the sword games her brothers would endlessly brag about, but as if he constantly took part in some heroic deeds. As for horses, he was like any other man of Rohan. He loved nothing better than riding on a good horse through the great plains of Mark. Éomer had a certain way of watching you and talking to you that made you feel like the centre of his universe. His dark eyes were intensely fixed on Lothíriel and when she spoke, she felt like what she told him was the most important thing that anyone could ever be telling another person.

Moreover, he wasn't just interested of talking only about himself. He made many questions about Dol Amroth, her family and people he had met while visiting there. Her brothers would probably be pleased when they'd hear that Éomer had asked about them. She also told him about her two cousins, Boromir and Faramir. The elder of two brothers was the same age as Prince Théodred, and people hailed him as a great warrior. The younger brother, Faramir, was of gentler nature, and even though he was about 16 years older than Lothíriel, she had always liked him very much (especially because he rarely treated her as if one would treat a little girl).

"I wish I could visit the shores of Dol Amroth again. Sometimes it feels like the time I spent there was just a dream, or that it happened in some other life", he said quietly, when they had finished their supper but were reluctant to leave yet. The hall had calmed down now a bit, and soothing peace had taken over Lothíriel. This moment, she felt very much at home.

"You could come with us when we go back! I'm sure Father would be pleased to have you visit us", she offered quickly. Just thinking of it, and the idea of getting to show him all her favourite places, made her grin.

"That is a tempting invitation, my lady. But I fear my uncle has other plans for me. I have to concentrate on my training at the moment. He needs me here", Éomer answered quietly. His voice still wasn't that of a man, but had Lothíriel been someone older, she could probably have told he would have a very pleasant, low voice one day.

"Fighting and training for battle seems to be the only thing that matters these days. Sometimes it is the only thing my Father and brothers speak of", Lothíriel sighed. Indeed, her brother Amrothos, with whom she had always been able to find the carefree kingdom of fairy tales and princes and dragons and enchanted gold, appeared not to have time for things like that anymore.

"It seems to be the only thing we speak of, too", he said and fell quiet. The two of them sat silent for a while, until Lothíriel decided it was the time to talk about something more cheerful. So she asked him about his horse, and that instantly lit up his eyes, throwing him into a long and animated explanation on how a wild horse was tamed.

It was first of the many nights the two of them would sit together talking. Suddenly, Éomer became a very busy young man: he still had his duties as a soldier of the Mark, and he too insisted on keeping company to his dying aunt. But whatever free time he got, he would spend it with the young princess. He would show her all the secret places of Edoras, the kind that a visitor wouldn't come across. He took her with him to the training grounds (they didn't tell her Aunt about that, of course) and even found her a small bow that did not require as much strength as the ones adults used. Back home, prince Imrahil had looked upon his daughter with a heavy brow, quietly musing whether the times when even the women would have to pick up arms would soon come. He had even talked of teaching Lothíriel some battling skills, which hadn't pleased Aunt Ivriniel too much. For the moment, that conversation back home remained unsettled, so sometimes one just had to take matters to one's own hands.

Though she knew she wasn't too good with the bow, she did her best to practice and to hit the bullseye in the target, if only to impress her friend. He watched by, making her feel like she was being observed by her father's master in arms. According to him, Lothíriel could become a very good markswoman, if she practised. So he took her to training grounds some days, when he would train with other young soldiers, and Lothíriel spent hours and hours in trying to hit the round shield that served as the target. Sometimes she hit it with every blow, sometimes her every arrow would be lost in the grass.

"Orcs and pirates need to start watching where they go when you return Dol Amroth. I'm sure you could take out all the enemy's armies single-handedly if you were only given enough arrows and a good spot to shoot them from", he joked at her one time, when he had a short break from his own exercises and had come to see how she fared. She hadn't been doing that well this time, and there was just only one pitiful arrow on standing on the target.

"If words were fatal blows, _you_could take all the orcs of Middle-earth alone", Lothíriel shot back and giggled at his expression. For some reason, she enjoyed teasing him very much. And he didn't seem to mind, when the one teasing him was her. When it came to his peers, he rarely would bear their shenanigans.

"Oh, my dear lady, it is only because I've learned from the master", he said then and winked his eye.

"Oh, you!" she snapped and chased after him, while the young Rohir ran away, laughing.

He also took her riding. Those were perhaps Lothíriel's favourite moments, even though they usually had others riding with them – some of Aunt's company wanted to see the countryside too, and that of course meant that an extensive escort would ride with them, and suddenly it would resemble more of a court outing than an honest to Valar riding trip. Éomer was always happy to oblige, especially when Lothíriel decided to join the party. Sometimes Éowyn would come with them too, and as the young Gondorian princess observed the two siblings, she became soon to understand there was a deep bond between the children of Éomund. Lothíriel wasn't really as close to Éowyn as to her brother, but at least she learnt to relax in the King's niece's company. Despite her serious countenance, Éowyn felt just as intensely as her brother. Only in Éomer's case, his feelings were always more absolute and less hidden than hers.

Often the two would just sit outside or in the shadowy naves of the great hall, and he would tell her the stories of his people or teach her Rohirric, while she helped him with his Sindarin (a language Lady Lótesse had insisted him to try to learn, though Éomer himself said he was not so good) and spoke of land of her ancestors. Back home, her teachers knew she could be a very anxious girl and sometimes it was hard to capture her attention. But when she listened to him, she was always very attentive, as if he would soon tell her some ground-breaking piece of information and the very fate of Arda depended on her listening to him. Lothíriel began to love his native language and its singing tones, and she also started to consider her Rohirric pretty good. Too good, perhaps, when she began to understand some of the crude and obscene jokes made by Meduseld's resident guards. But that wasn't something she'd have told her Aunt.

Unsurprisingly, she was with Éomer when she was first presented to the Crown Prince Théodred. The prince was a grown man already, an accomplished warrior and loved dearly by his men and his father the King. Whereas Éomer and his sister Éowyn had inherited Morwen Steelsheen's height, Théodred was said to resemble her with his dark hair, grey eyes, and his refined features. Éomer was one with charm and passionate spirit, but Théodred had inherited his grandmother's quiet wisdom and temperance. Nonetheless, they said that one day the Prince would make a fine king for the Riddermark.

"Princess Lothíriel. It is pleasure to meet you", Théodred said, his voice quiet and friendly and she though that he had a voice of someone who had to constantly remind himself to talk louder. The girl felt a sudden urge to hide behind Éomer's back, but instead she stepped forward and curtsied as gracefully as she could with her anxiety. Of course, she did not notice how King Théoden or Aunt Ivriniel's eyes followed her, planning and calculating. The forces of fate were at work that day, Lothíriel would think years after.

"The pleasure is all mine, my lord. It is a great honour for me to be able to stay here in your beautiful country", she answered; small talk was something she had been tutored for years now and it seemed to come out like a second nature, which according to her Aunt could be a great advantage in a lot of uncomfortable situations. Still, it was something of a struggle as she tried not to turn her eyes away from his. If the prince and his cousin had something in common, it was the intense way they seemed to watch other people. Only in Éomer's case, Lothíriel had never felt the need to look away.

"You do not miss the sea, my lady?" Théodred asked with a slight smile on his face.

"The daughter of Dol Amroth always misses the sea, your highness. The longing for the ocean was bred to my people long ago and it still persists", she answered. Suddenly she could see the sea in the front of her: sunlight flickering on the waves, and the grey storm clouds swarming towards the shores... She could almost smell the salty scent, and it made her smile.

"I long to see the sea for myself one day. But it seems that for now that visit has to wait", the prince said, and Lothíriel was sure she could hear a trace of intense longing in his voice. The man did have Númenorean blood in his veins, after all.

"Dol Amroth would receive you well, my lord. My father thinks highly of Rohirrim", Lothíriel answered. Théodred smiled briefly and then his eyes quickly flickered to Éomer, who had stood silently until now.

"I understand you and my cousin have become great friends. It pleases me to see that there is at least one person who can make him smile for a change", Théodred said then, and his words made the young girl lose her speech for a moment, for she wasn't sure her lessons on small talk had included any advice about how you answered a statement like that. She wasn't the only one who was feeling surprised, however – she could actually feel the tension emanating from Éomer, who was standing not far from her elbow.

"Bringing joy in others' lives is a great thing to do", the princess delivered the courtesy quickly, trying not to sound stupefied. Somehow others noticing how close a friendship she had with Éomer confused her, even though she was sure it shouldn't.

"I hear that you have taken it to your heart to learn our language", Théodred said then, sensing that a change of topic was in order. Lothíriel suppressed a relieved sigh and took the chance immediately, babbling about the Rohirric language in a manner any air-headed maiden would be proud of. From that, the conversation moved on to more comfortable topics until one of the Prince's men came to him with some evidently important matter, and the King's son excused himself.

That was the day before Lady Lótesse died.

For a long time, the month Lothíriel spent in Edoras would remain in her memory as one of the happiest times of her life, especially after she had returned home. In that month spent in the Riddermark she could not see any dark clouds in the sky, and a feeling of lightness in her mind that she would soon start to see fading from her life and the world around her – not just in Rohan, but also in Gondor. As the young princess grew older and began to understand things about world more and more, she started to even suspect whether the lightness she had felt in Edoras had ever really been true.

* * *

Beloved relatives dying was hardly a thing to be joyful of, but silently Lothíriel couldn't help but wonder about the Rohirric burial traditions. Of course she wasn't happy about Lady Lótesse's death, though. It did not only mean pain for the people she had grown to care about during her stay in Edoras, but it also meant that soon she would have to return home.

In the Mark, it was a custom to remember the dead not with sorrow, but with joy. True, the keening of the women was something that gripped your very soul, but when the body of the deceased had been laid down to rest and the people had returned to the warmth of the Golden Hall, the tears were wiped and memories of her life were brought forth. And her life was remembered with mirth and laughter, which was as Lothíriel observed, a good way to fight the sorrow of losing a loved one. In Rohan, funeral wasn't just burying the dead, but also celebrating their life. For some reason, this seemed like a powerful revelation to her, and as she turned back to look to Éomer and he met her gaze silently, for a moment she felt like she understood him and his world better than she had ever before.

* * *

After Lady Lótesse was buried, the tides turned. Or at least that was the description Lothíriel thought of when the certain disquiet appeared in the atmosphere. Suddenly chests and caskets were packed up and prepared for the Gondorians to leave. Lothíriel did not particularly look forward to it, but then again she was also happy that she would get to see her family again. And her friend – in fact, she had begun to think of Éomer as her best friend – would accompany the visitors to the border of Rohan. Who knew? Maybe she would get a chance to visit the Riddermark again some time in future. So she bid farewell to Éowyn and other girls she had come to befriend, promising to remember them and perhaps return to meet them again some day.

On one warm summer day's morning, the entourage started the journey towards the border of the two realms, and quietly Lothíriel watched the King's capital as they rode further away from it. There was a strange ache in her chest, the kind she hadn't felt when she had first left Dol Amroth.

"My lady?" Éomer called her (he always insisted on calling her by proper titles, and she did the same, although it felt a bit funny to her sometimes). "Is everything well?"

"I am fine. I was just watching Meduseld... how it ceiling seems to be on fire when the sunlight hits in right way. I don't want to forget that, because I need to tell my brothers of it", she answered and flashed a quick smile at him.

"It is a sight to marvel at", he agreed. "But you must prefer the stone palaces of your own people. Comparing our wooden houses to the vast estates of the Gondorian people..." he began, but the princess waved her hand.

"Nonsense, my lord. Beauty and value is not only determined by how ancient or grand something is", she recited the words of her old nurse.

"I think you're right. But you see, my people are very protective of our culture. We sometimes feel that the people of Gondor who live in their high stone palaces regard us as little more than savages", Éomer said quietly. He was not entirely wrong, though: Lothíriel already knew of how her uncle, Lord Denethor, had little love for even such friendly people as the Rohirrim.

"It is true that our way of life is sometimes different from yours, but we are all the Children of Iluvatar, and in his eyes, no man or woman is of more worth than the other. As for me, I love your country as if it were my own", Lothíriel said (in her own ears, it sounded very wise) and offered a little smile to him. That succeeded in bringing a smile on his face, too. They fell silent then, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence but that of friendship.

The entourage did not travel any faster than they originally had. This time Lothíriel did not mind but rather enjoyed the slow pace. The leader of the Swan Knights, a young tall warrior named Aradhain, had proposed they ride to Minas Tirith and then continue back to Dol Amroth by the river Anduin. A word had come that Prince Imrahil was visiting the White City to take care of some business for Grandfather, who was the ruling prince, and he wished to return his home with his sister and daughter. The Rohirric warriors would escort the group as far as the Mering Stream and then ride back to Aldburg.

Aldburg, the old town Éomer had born and spent his childhood in, was one of the oldest towns in all the Mark. Eorl the Young had lived there too a long time ago. After his son Brego moved to Edoras, the town was given to the new King's third son Eofor who was also Éomer's forefather. The young Rohir's father had inhabited the town and from there he had ridden to many battles against the orcs and the Dunlendings as the First Marshal Of the Riddermark.

Éomer was happy to show Lothíriel the town of his birth. His old home was not as grand a building as Meduseld was, but it was a comfortable, homely place with the familiar horse motifs and knotworks adorning the walls and fabrics.

"This is where my parents first met. My late aunt liked to tell that story – how my uncle the King rode to Aldburg with my mother, and how my father immediately set his eyes on her. He wooed her long, though. My mother was something you could call a free soul, and she would only marry a man who matched her in the spirit. Aunt always told how Mother made Father prove his love with all kinds of mad feats... and he was so infatuated with her that he couldn't help but do every single thing she asked of him", Éomer said quietly when he showed her the hall of the Marshal's house. When Lothíriel looked around there, she could tell that this was where King Brego, Eorl the Young's son, had gotten inspiration for the Golden Hall of Meduseld.

"What kind of people they were?" she asked. "I don't mean to pry. But... if you want to talk about it, I will listen."

Éomer hesitated for a while and then pulled her with him to a wooden bench by the wall. He watched his hands, calloused and hard from training with swords.

"Éowyn looks so much like Mother. She has the same eyes... same face. But she is calmer and more disciplined than I am – she knows when to listen and to stand back. She takes after Father on that matter. He always seemed so serene, always knew what to do. Yet he had the strangest sense of humour, always coming up with these funny little stories he told us by nights. He loved Mother so much... He would ride so fast when he returned from hunting orcs, and Mother would be waiting for him on the doorstep. And then he would dismount his horse like he was flying and spin her around in the air. She would laugh, and her laughter brought happiness to all of us. The shadows didn't seem so threatening, the sun seemed to shine a bit brighter. He was the only one who could make her laugh like that – she loved laughing and she was always so happy. But she never laughed again after he died..." he said softly, and even though it had been years since their death, Lothíriel saw that he still mourned them. She took his hand in her own and stroked gently the back of his palm.

"I don't mean that I know exactly how you feel, but I might understand a bit of it. You see, my mother died soon after giving birth to me. I know how it is to live without a parent", the young princess said with as much compassion as she could muster in her voice, though she knew it wasn't much of a comfort.

There was a small smile on his face – not exactly a joyful one, but the kind that recognized her compassion. With a heavy sigh, he rested his head against hers, and long they sat there in the shadows with their hands joined.

* * *

After spending two nights in Aldburg, the company mounted their horses once again and set for the long journey. The air was warmer now, with the scent of summer heavy in the wind that didn't feel so chilly either. The work at the fields was finished, and now it was time to wait for the nature to do its work.

"There are not many sights more beautiful than the ripe field of barley, waving back and forth by the wind like a golden sea", Éomer said one day as they passed some of the fresh fields.

"I wish I could see Rohan in the autumn and winter. I've heard that you even get snow here!" Lothíriel said, trying to imagine the plains white instead of green. But as she had never seen such a sight, it was hard to picture.

He lifted his eyebrows curiously.

"You have never seen snow?" he asked.

"I have not. The winter in Dol Amroth is milder than here, and we mostly just get endless rain during winter. You would think you'd get used to it sooner or later, but I've never really liked rain", she answered. "I'd rather take your wind to replace it."

"But the wind can be cold and chilly. At least your rain is gentle when compared to it", Éomer countered.

"Perhaps. But the wind does not make one wet", Lothíriel insisted.

Their conversation came to an end, however, when the captain of Rohirric warriors called Éomer. The leading warrior wanted the youth to accompany the scouts who were riding ahead. The King's nephew briefly nodded to Lothíriel and promised to join her later, and then he urged his horse, riding quickly to join with the other warrior who were also ordered to accompany the scouts.

Lothíriel, feeling suddenly very lonely, let her pony fall back a bit so that she could ride beside her aunt. Lady Ivriniel watched her with those keen blue-grey eyes that rarely missed anything, which never really failed to make her feel like she had done something wrong.

"You have become a good friend with this young Éomer, I see", her Aunt commented at length.

"He is really nice", the princess answered and shrugged her shoulders. Though she had come to expect it by now, she had never really understood why her family thought it so odd that she'd be friends with Éomer. As far as the princess herself knew, it was the most natural thing in whole world.

"You should not become too attached to him, Lothíriel. You are a Princess of Gondor, and your father and your uncle wish for you to have a good and advantageous marriage one day", Aunt said with serious voice. The girl sighed, not bothering to point out to her aunt that she way too young for marry anyone and it was silly to speak of_ Éomer _and _marriage _in the same sentence anyway. Of course this was something she had heard before, but she still felt it was much too early to start planning her marriage with any man. She didn't tell her Aunt that, though.

"I know, Aunt", she said, trying to come across as obedient as ever but she didn't sound that convincing even to her own ears. She may be 9 years old still, but she already knew all about how being born into a life of privilege also meant certain responsibilities, and if you happened to be a woman like she would one day be, marrying a man whose connections were beneficial for her family and Gondor was perhaps the most important of those responsibilities.

"Just be careful with this young man, Lothíriel. Do not give him any wrong impressions that might make him think that..." Aunt Ivriniel said, but then hesitated. The young princess frowned.

"Make him think what?" she asked. However, she never got an answer as suddenly they heard alarmed shouts up from the hill. Not thinking, Lothíriel grabbed her bow (when they had left Aldburg, Éomer had cast a dark glance at her and said it'd be better if she had her bow near her during the journey, even though he had promised he'd take care of her). Aunt Ivriniel hadn't seemed to be entirely happy about her travelling attire and had not been too convinced about how her bow wasn't supposed to be able to make any real damage, but now, as the sounds of alarm crept down the hillside, she instinctively guided her horse nearer to Lothíriel.

Then he came riding, the hooves of the horse thundering as he raced down the hill. The captain of the guard shouted something that sounded like a question, and Éomer needed to call just one word:

"Dunlendings!"

Terrified shouts rose from the company, as the horsemen and the Swan Knights took their positions. Captain Healdan and Aradhain both bellowed orders to their men, and then the swarm of vicious-looking Dunlendings came down the hill.

Not even thinking what she was doing, Lothíriel took an arrow and adjusted it on her bow. She aimed, wishing the arrow to actually hit its target rather than end up hurting one of the horselords or her own guards. She released the arrow and it flew with swift precision, landing right in the eye of one attacking and particularly filthy-looking Dunlending. Lothíriel did not know which one of them was more surprised, she or the unfortunate man.

"Lothíriel!" Aunt Ivriniel gasped, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. But the young princess hardly heard her aunt, for something was boiling in her, deep inside her. She took another arrow and took aim, but this time she only succeeded hitting the arm of one of the attackers. The man gave a spine-chilling shriek and shot a deadly glare at the girl who had injured him.

But now it seemed that the joke was on her, for a small group of Dunlendings fired arrows and one of them hit the neck of her pony. The wounded animal neighed and sank on its knees, and Lothíriel lost her balance. She gracelessly stumbled over to the ground, still gripping her bow as if it was her lifeline. She only glanced about her shortly and saw to her relief that Aunt Ivriniel hadn't been hit. Then the young princess climbed up on her feet and rushed forward. She did not even think of what she was doing, and as she ran, she took aim again at the attackers. Lothíriel had never been in a battle, but for some reason she could not feel fear; it was as if some other entity had taken a hold of her body and was making her do things she'd never imagine doing.

But she was no warrior, and when in the middle of all chaos she actually came across an enemy, the one she had shot an arrow at, she suddenly felt all her courage leave her. She tried to lift up her bow again and shoot at the monstrous-looking man, but her arms wouldn't work and he saw it, enjoying her distress. He laughed and said something in his own language that sounded like an insult and she stumbled backwards she was sure she would die there and then.

However, her time in this world hadn't yet come to an end, for a horseman sprang forth from her right, calling her name. There was a dead serious expression on his young face as his horse forced its way in between the princess and her would-be killer. With one swift, powerful strike of his sword, the Dunlending was finished.

"Lothíriel! You fool!" Éomer roared as he grabbed her and lifted her to sit behind him, no doubt boosted with a rush of his fear for her life. As soon as he had her in the saddle, he turned the horse around towards the battle and guarded her with his body.

"I- I am so-sorry!" she whimpered and grabbed his midsection in a way that a drowning person probably grabbed a lifeline thrown to them, as if just clinging to him would preserve her life. He snarled in a manner that suggested she would be in big trouble once the attackers were finished, but somehow she couldn't worry about that. She was with Éomer now, and as long as she stayed with him, everything would be all right.

That thought brought back her courage, and soon she was hitting one of the Dunlendings (who had crept to the horse without Éomer noticing) on the head with her bow, shouting threats on how she would single-handedly take down whole army of the enemy. All that was very stupid and she felt foolish afterwards, but then again it _was _her first real battle and it would have been a wonder if she could have acted all cool and sensible about it after everything she had just done.

It was not long after than the last of the Dunlendings was slain, and the noises of battle quieted down into moans of the wounded. It had not been a big party, but they had seriously injured one of the Swan Knights – the poor man had to be sent back to Aldburg to recover. Others had only received minor cuts that could be tended to at the scene. And when the commotion had calmed down a bit, Éomer lifted Lothíriel down from the saddle and dismounted right after her. He gave her a furious look that made her immediately feel very ashamed.

"Now, do tell me in the name of Valar what you thought you were doing?" he asked, his voice dangerously low, and his eyes blazed with barely contained fury. Lothíriel sensed this would be only the first of many scoldings she would get.

"I-I don't know. I did not think", she whispered weakly and wished that the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't even think of any excuse... but then again, she wouldn't have wanted to give one to him.

"Clearly you were not, for only someone with completely without thought could do what you just did! The situation was under control, yet you had to engage in some foolish attempt of bravery! You would have gotten killed if I had not gotten to you in time! Did you not understand that it was exactly what would have happened? And if you indeed had died, just what do you think your uncle and grandfather would have done once they heard?" he growled.

"I do understand that! I was just... I just..." the young princess tried, but she was still incapable of explaining herself. She had been wrong and stupid to act in such way, she did realize that. How could she explain the way she had completely forgotten about herself for a moment?

Perhaps he saw that, for the fury in his eyes seemed to give away to something else.

"You idiot girl", he muttered, and then he grabbed her and embraced her tight, as if never wanting to let go.

* * *

**A/N: **As you have very well seen, Lothíriel has not been acting too wisely in this chapter. This deed of hers is likely something to give her a lot of trouble later; I'd say that while visiting Rohan, she has listened to way too many legendary stories and allowed those of the Shieldmaidens get to her. Only, that is not really how you make an impression on Éomer.

Also, this is where we leave Lady Lótesse; I know she's not much more than a plot device to give a reason for these visits that wouldn't have otherwise happened. Like I said, this story should be taken with a grain of salt, as should some of the characters. Hopefully I've been able to develop those who come later a bit more than poor Lady Lótesse.

Now, to the one maid's remark that Lothíriel has Númenorean ancestry. The first Prince of Dol Amroth (and the founder of the House of Dol Amroth) was Galador, whose father was Imrazôr the Númenórean. I understand it is unclear as to why he'd have such an epithet, but I've chosen to go for the obvious answer that the family is descended from some Númenórean refugee and, and thus Lothíriel would also have inherited some of the blood of that people. Feel free to disagree with me though, as I'm not the best expert on Tolkien's lore.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter ****3**

Lothíriel had been right about the scoldings she would receive. The moment Aunt Ivriniel got to her, she received such a strong rebuke from the woman that the young princess was sure even her Father or Grandfather would not surpass the vehemence of her tone or the colourfulness of her chosen expressions. Knowing that she fully deserved her aunt's harsh words, Lothíriel remained silent and did not even try to explain herself (and anyway she had a feeling any excuses would just have fueled Aunt's anger). Though it made her feel intensely ashamed and desperately disgusted with herself, she endured Lady Ivriniel's outburst with whatever scraps of dignity she could gather together.

"You are right, Aunt. I was not acting very wisely. I am very sorry and I promise this won't reoccur", she finally said when her aunt was practically gasping for air. The poor woman was still clutching her chest and there was an ill colour on her face.

"You better promise! But don't even think this is the end of it. Young lady, I'm sure your father will want to discuss this with you when we reach Minas Tirith, and you're lucky if he'll ever let you outside the palace again!" Aunt Ivriniel barked and then sat down to catch her breath, probably regretting her decision to let the young princess come along.

As for Éomer, he was the kind of a person to quickly lose his temper, yet he was also fast to forgive. So, when Lothíriel approached him timidly and offered to help him with a minor cut on his right hand, he patted ground beside him and let her see to his injury.

Prince Imrahil always took pride in extensive education he had arranged for his children. Thus Lothíriel had already learnt to write and read on early age among the other and varied things a well-bred princess ought to know and be able to do. However, Imrahil also thought his children needed to master also some practical skills – the kind that would be useful in these times when the future seemed to promise so little certainty.

"I want my children to be useful. I want you to be able to be in control of chaotic situations", Imrahil had once said, but the young princess had never dared to think of what those chaotic situations might be. For Lothíriel's brothers, this meant battle training. Although she too would receive some lessons in marksmanship (though it was unlikely they would continue now after her little feat), the more important part of her schooling was her studies and helping out in the House of Healing. By the age of nine, she already knew how to treat shallow wounds. When her traning had began, she had thrown a tantrum as she would too have wanted to learn how to handle a sword and fight. However, as her lessons progressed, she found healing was a fascinating trade, and just as useful as that of a warrior.

They did not speak when Lothíriel cleaned up the cut and then dressed it with linen. His dark eyes remained on her all the while though he did not speak, until she finally made the last careful knot.

"There! You'll be as good as new in no time", she promised. "Just keep the cut clean."

"I will", he said softly and his eyes fell on the bandage.

"Are you feeling well?" asked the princess, searching his face. What if he had some more sinister injury and she hadn't just noticed it? But that did not turn out to be the matter.

"For a moment, I thought I'd lose you. I thought I wouldn't get to you in time, my lady", Éomer said after hesitating for a moment. "It was terrifying... and I don't like feeling that way. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"No, don't apologize. It's me who is at fault here. You were right to be angry with me", Lothíriel hurried to say, feeling the embarrassment once again. She still couldn't tell what had gotten into her. To be honest, she wasn't so sure if she ever even wanted to know.

"I worry about you, princess. I fear something might happen to you on your way home. Please, promise me that you'll be careful. I couldn't bear it if the orcs or whatever darkness that lurks in this world stole you away", he said, and though he tried to hide it, there was a faint frantic note to his voice.

"I'll be careful. I promise that to you, my lord", she said reassuringly and squeezed his good hand. "And what danger could there even be in Dol Amroth? I'll be quite safe, with my Grandfather's men all over the palace."

This seemed to console him and some of the tightness in his expression left his face.

"Lady Lothíriel... May I ask something of you?" he asked then.

"Of course you may", young princess said quickly, trying to see his eyes in an attempt to understand what was going on in his mind. But his gaze wouldn't rise up to meet her, so she could only imagine what he might be thinking.

"When you reach Minas Tirith, could you perhaps send me some kind of message? Just to let me know that you are safe?" he pleaded. The desperateness of his voice was not lost to her.

"I promise I will. Whenever I get a chance, I'll write to you", Lothíriel promised and patted his arm.

For the first time on that whole day, he smiled.

* * *

The shock of what had happened – and the reality that she had actually killed a living being – hit her only after she had taken care of Éomer's cut. Suddenly, as they were eating supper, the realisation hit Lothíriel with full force. She was not sure what triggered it, but as she looked down in her bowl of vegetable broth, she started to quiver and shake as if in ague. Tears streamed down her face and when Éomer demanded what was the matter, she couldn't answer.

He quickly understood what was wrong with the young girl. He could be young but he was not a warrior for nothing. He had seen people go into hysterics after a battle before, and Lothíriel was not the only one who was overwhelmed by this kind of shock after their first fighting experience. So he gently gathered her in his arms and carried her to the tent she and Aunt Ivriniel shared, with the woman fussing around them. She occasionally suffered from her nerves – or at least she said she did – so she had always with her a small vial: it contained thick, dark syrup that helped one to sleep. Under Éomer's vigilant watch, Aunt Ivriniel gave a small dose of the medicine to Lothíriel and gently rocked the crying girl in her arms. The princess fell asleep there, the last image in her eyes being her life-saver's serious face.

* * *

After the fight on the plains, the company travelled without seeing any more Dunlendings. This did not calm Éomer or Aunt Ivriniel one bit; Lothíriel felt like there were always eyes on her, just waiting her to explode and do something foolish or go into shock again. And it was not just her aunt or the young warrior, but the other members of the group, too. To them, her little escapade came across as very improper. It was not a Gondorian noblewoman's place to wage war, unless it was an absolute question of life and death. That had not been the case with the Dunlending attack, however. As Aradhain strictly informed the princess, the Swan Knights and the Rohirric riders had very much had the situation under control.

"You're very lucky that young master Éomer was able to get to you before you got hurt", the captain said gravely and shook his head.

"I know, I know", Lothíriel sighed for the hundredth time. Truth to be told, she was fairly certain she could have dealt with her shame had she not put up such a show later, acting like a bawling baby. It didn't comfort her at all even though Éomer insisted she was not the first or the last to react that way.

"You should have seen me after my first battle", he said and offered her a comforting smile. "I couldn't speak or stop shivering until hours after, and though I bathed several times that day, the smell of blood just wouldn't dissolve."

"But you didn't cry like I did", Lothíriel said and made a face. He sighed and seemed to understand that there was no compromising with her as far as this one matter was concerned.

Even though her Gondorian relatives did not approve of her feat, she found unlikely allies in the Rohirric guard that was escorting them. Apparently some of them even held the notion that Lothíriel's marksmanship was impressive. So whenever aunt Ivriniel or Éomer's eyes would be elsewhere, one of the fair-haired warriors would pat her arm in secret companionship and quietly whisper: "Well done, my lady!"

The time of parting came all too soon, as the party reached the Mering Stream, which marked the border of two countries. The Rohirrim would not cross the river, as Lord Steward preferred the outlanders not to enter the realm without a reason.

"What will you do when you return to Aldburg?" the princess asked her friend on that last day of their shared journey.

"I will go back to my training, I suppose. The lands need to be patrolled in case of orcs and Dunlendings, and my captain will likely want to investigate where that group we encountered came from. Dunlendings don't usually come this far east", he answered.

"Will you keep yourself safe?" Lothíriel asked, not daring to look at him.

"Of course I will, my princess. But what of you? What will you do when you return your home?" he inquired.

"Well, I will probably be in house arrest because of my little... feat the other day. Father will have me working at the House of Healing all my spare time", Lothíriel muttered. It wasn't that she disliked working with the healers. It was Father's disapproval she did not look forward to. But then, it was all she could expect after what she had done.

As they stopped to water the horses, Lothíriel silently walked to Éomer, hiding her hands behind her back.

"My lord?" she called him. He lifted his eyes from his horse to meet hers.

"What is it, Princess?" he asked. She hesitated for a moment, but then started babbling quickly and barely taking any breath between the words: "Well, I thought it wouldn't do to part without giving something to you, and it's a custom amongst my people to give things to one's friends when one knows they won't see each other in a long time, but I was not sure what I could give to you so I made you this."

Lothíriel took the embroidered handkerchief from behind her back and gracelessly showed it into his hands. The fabric was light green (she had gotten the cloth from the markets of Edoras) and she had embroidered a golden horse on the centre of it. The animal was not as graceful as she had intended, but at least it didn't look too much like a cow. On the edges of the handkerchief she had embroidered thin garland with darker green and with tiny spots of white that he'd hopefully recognise as flowers.

Éomer took the handkerchief quietly and stared deeply at it for a long moment, almost as if he had just received a Silmaril from her. There was kind of a strange look on his face when he lifted his eyes, but Lothíriel could not tell what he was thinking.

"It is beautiful. Thank you", he whispered. The words were simple, but his voice held all the praise and gratitude she could ever have hoped for, and her heart felt like bursting with happiness and pride. He smiled, "I have something for you, too."

He turned back to his saddlebags, folding the handkerchief gently and put it away so carefully one might have thought it was his most precious possession. Then he took a small Rohirric blade, sheathed in brown leather, and gave it to her.

"This does not mean that I want you to go hunting orcs or that I secretly approve of what you did the other day... and it would perhaps be for the best if your aunt did not see this. But I fear there will come a time in the future when this could save your life. I... I can't always be there to look after you, but perhaps I won't have to, if you're ready and armed. This way, at least something of me can be there to protect you", he said quietly. Then he began to show where she should strike should she ever come across an orc and be unable to use her bow. He touched his own body to show the best places to disarm the possible attacker.

Lothíriel imagined this might have – or perhaps _should _have – made her uncomfortable, but she could only think of his words: _at __least__ something __of __me __can __be __there __to __protect __you._

* * *

At the sight of the river the princess let out a small sigh. It was a long journey still to Dol Amroth, but somehow she already felt like coming to an end of sort. She turned to Éomer who had been riding beside her. His face was serious and his eyes unreadable, but something about him spoke of discomfort. Perhaps his cut was bothering him, and Lothíriel instantly proceeded to tell how to keep it clean and treat it. However, his expression soon made her quiet down.

Not speaking, he reached for her hand, squeezed it gently and then dropped it.

"Ferthu Lothíriel hal", he said quietly, apparently forgetting all about proper titles. Suddenly tears were pooling in her eyes, and the princess wanted to hug him and tell him they would meet each other again one day, but she did none of that. Instead, she offered him a teary smile.

"Ferthu Éomer hal", she whispered. She barely heard the other horselords' shouts of farewell. For some unknown reason, she slipped into Sindarin: "_Sílo __Anor __bo __men __lín...__"_

And then he turned his horse and rode with his companions, and she saw his face no longer. More than anything, Lothíriel wanted to turn around and watch him as he went, but she got a hold of herself and fixed her eyes on the road ahead.

* * *

**A/N: **Ferthu hal = Fare you well (essentially meaning "Goodbye and good luck.")

Sílo Anor bo men lín = May the sun shine on your road.

* * *

And this is where we leave Rohan for a while. I know this chapter is short, but consider it something of an interlude. However, I promise that the next chapter will be longer.

**baubles - **Thank you for your kind words! I was worrying whether everything is moving too slow, so it's good to hear that at least someone out there doesn't think that. I'm glad that you like the story!


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_January 3009, Dol Amroth_

_My lord,_

_I do not know whether this letter will ever find you, as I know you to be a busy young man with better things to do than to write notes to foolish girls like myself. Yet I could not help myself and here I am, writing to you... I can't but worry for your welfare. Aunt Ivriniel would probably consider this a waste of both of our time, but my Father has approved of it: he still thinks very highly of you. According to him, it is more important than ever to preserve the friendly relationship between our peoples. Grandfather agrees and says it's the little things and small acts of friendship that are the most consequential.  
_

_Things are well here in Dol Amroth, I suppose. Or perhaps I should say that they are as well as they can be in these times of danger. I know it was not meant for my ears, but I could not help but overhear one messenger's account to Grandfather: evidently the eastern lands and Mountainsides are becoming more dangerous with every passing month. Reports of missing people, of sightings of strange creatures, the orc bands roaming abroad... I was thinking maybe I could come and visit you again some time, but that is starting to become more unlikely.  
_

_I'm sorry to bother you with my concerns. I should not be writing of such things, for you probably have enough things to worry about already._

_If you ever feel like talking to me, do not hesitate to write. I long to hear news of you._

_I remain your faithful friend_

_Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth_

* * *

_May 3009, Aldburg_

_My Lady Lothíriel,_

_I apologise for my silence and I hope this letter finds you in good health. I only received your letter this day and instantly sat down to write to you. I do not know when this might reach you, for the messengers between Rohan and Gondor seem to be too sparse these days._

_I am pleased to hear that you are well and safe. I have often wondered about you, too, hoping that the shadows of the east have not yet reached your beautiful home by the sea. If it was in my power, I would wish for you to remain untouched by the worries and sorrows._

_As for me, my life mostly consists of guarding the lands with my éored. I ride to Edoras when I can, but often I am too busy to visit my sister and uncle. Éowyn spoke well of you the last time I saw her; she wonders when you'll come here again. Of course we would be glad to see you again, but I understand why that can't happen.  
_

_I wish I could somehow calm your fears, but I can only say that similar thoughts pass through my mind daily. My éored rides patrolling the east lands of my country, but often we come too late. I wish I could somehow better protect my people who are so defenceless against the terrors of the enemy._

_I'd be glad to hear from you, and I guarantee your letters will find a true friend in me._

_Your loyal friend_

_Éomer_

* * *

_August 3009, Dol Amroth_

_My lord,_

_Thousand thanks for your letter! It gave me much joy and comfort on its arrival, as the times have been somewhat dark and sorrowful here in Dol Amroth. When I read your letter, I could almost hear your voice as if you were standing next to me, and for a while I could forget about all my worries._

_My brother married late past year and new my sister-in-law, who is a lovely woman, soon became pregnant. She had a miscarriage two weeks ago. Poor Elphir and Aredhel have been devastated, and I have done my best to support them, but at times despair would get a hold of me, too. It brings me comfort to know that you at least are well and have survived unharmed all your battles. May you remain victorious in your future campaigns also._

_I am happy to hear that Éowyn has not forgotten about me. Will you pass my greetings to her when you see her again? She is a very admirable young lady, and I wish I had a sister like her, too. I love my brothers, but they are not exactly the same as it would be if I had a sister. All they seem to think are battles and swords, and at the moment Aredhel is much more the one who needs my support, not the other way around._

_I know you have your duties and you can't disregard them, but please promise me that you will be careful and stay safe._

_With warm greetings_

_Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth_

* * *

_November 3009, Edoras_

_My lady Princess,_

_I am very sorry to hear about the great sadness that has stricken your brother and sister-in-law. My own mother suffered a miscarriage; had the child lived, Éowyn and I would have an older sister. I wasn't born that time, but I know how you must feel. I wish you and your family well and hope you can find the strength to overcome this loss._

_However, I'm glad that my letter brought some ease to your grief. I apologise for not being able to answer your letter earlier. Times have been hard here also, but there are streaks of light to be seen: last week, my éored took down a big band of orcs and accomplished in saving the lives of many women and children. Occasions like this give me hope._

_I have forwarded your greetings to my sister, and she asked me to thank you for your thoughtfulness. Last week, my uncle learned she has been training sword fighting for some time now. At first I thought uncle would be displeased with her, but after some contemplation he decided to allow her to continue with her training – some say she is like the fierce Shieldmaidens from the legends of old. I'm not sure how I feel about her practising the arts of war, but my sister has never allowed me to tell her what to do, and I know she will not stop even if I tried to tell her not to. Still, whatever my own feelings may be, she seems to be a very good swordswoman._

_You do not have to worry about me, although you will likely do so anyway. I will stay safe – I swear that to you._

_Your loyal friend,_

_Éomer_

* * *

_May 3010, Dol Amroth_

_My lord Éomer,_

_It has been some time since I last wrote to you, and I am sorry for this delay. There haven't been that many messengers here in Dol Amroth for some months now, and I do not wish to bother my Father with such requests. How are you faring?_

_I am sorry to inform you that Grandfather passed away some time ago. It was a great sorrow for all of us. He was a gentle, wise man and not at all warlike. Perhaps it was a mercy for him to be able to flee the shadows of the world... Grandfather had been sick for some time, so it was to be expected that he would leave us, but it was still hard a thing to see him slip away from this life._

_My father is the Prince of Dol Amroth now. His coronation was a grand occasion – even my uncle Lord Denethor and cousins Boromir and Faramir came to celebrate with us – and for a moment one could forget about the worries and concerns of the world. I have rarely seen such a crowd here in the palace of Dol Amroth. The last time we had celebrations so large was when my brother Elphir and Aredhel were wedded._

_Éowyn the Swordswoman! I have to say I'm not at all surprised (she is the daughter of the Riddermark and your sister, after all), and actually I'm a bit curious about her. I'd rather like to see her fighting for myself. It is a relief to hear that your uncle is not angry with her, though. His disapproval would no doubt be very hard for her to bear._

_My sister-in-law is calling me – I suppose I need to leave this letter here (I've babbled too much already, anyway)._

_I remain your faithful friend_

_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_June 3010, Aldburg_

_My Princess,_

_I am very sorry to hear of your Grandfather. He was a good man as far as I am concerned; I remember him well from my visit to your fair city. He had this gentle air about him, like you said, and he was good for me and especially my sister. Please tell my condolences to your lord father, and to your brothers._

_Your letter came to me on a curious moment: I had just been thinking about you, and I admit I was a bit worried since I had not heard of you since your last message. You can imagine my surprise as the messenger arrived only minutes after I had thought of you, as if somehow remembering you summoned your letter. I am indeed sorry for your loss, yet I could not help but feel glad for hearing from you again._

_Life here in Aldburg goes as usual. We have been riding more patrols last weeks, and it seems I barely have time to sleep and eat. In fact, it is night when I am writing this, and my companions are already asleep. I should be too, if I wish to be alert and watchful tomorrow. I am safe and well despite of our recent encounters with orcs._

_I wish my letter finds you in good health._

_With best wishes_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_October 3010, Minas Tirith_

_My lord Éomer,_

_I received your letter this morning, as a rider arrived from the Mark. I am glad to tell you that I am well now - I suffered from a cold I got when riding in rain. Currently I am visiting Minas Tirith and my cousins, Lords Boromir and Faramir. I think you would like them, especially Boromir; he is a great warrior, perhaps one of the greatest of his time. They have their own duties and goings so I am often left alone, but luckily there's much to see and explore here in the White City._

_My father asked me to thank you for your condolences. Grandfather's death was a severe blow to him - for a long time, his mind was heavy with sorrow. But now he seems to be getting better, even though he says that a man in a position like his can never truly be at peace. I hope that is not true._

_It has been a long time since I last visited the White City. It is as beautiful as ever, and I wish you could be here with me to see it. When I roam the halls of the King's palace, I wonder whether it is very similar to the halls of old Númenorean castles. I can almost see the tall, proud people who came from the sea. If the history had gone different, maybe I would be living there right now, on the white shores... Somehow, this picture is exciting and terrifying at the same time._

_Forgive me my blathering. I did not mean to bother you with such nonsense, but sometimes I can't seem to help myself, and this city has always had strange effect on me._

_I wait impatiently for your next letter._

_Your friend_  
_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_March 3011, Edoras_

_My Princess,_

_I am sorry to have not responded you earlier. It seems that your letter was lost for a time, among the papers of my uncle here in Edoras. He finally found it last week and forwarded it to me. I cannot write long, for I am in haste and the rider for Minas Tirith is leaving soon, but do know that you are in my thoughts like always. I am glad to hear you are well now. I do not know of many more frustrating things than being bound to the sickbed._

_I confess that I am actually happy that you are not some distant Númenorean noblewoman. If you lived on some far away country, we would never have met._

_Warm greetings_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_November 3011, Aldburg_

_My Lady,_

_Are you well? I have not received a message from you since last year, and this fills me with worry. Has something happened to you to prevent you from writing?_

_Please, when you reach this letter, write to me instantly. My heart is anxious and I cannot bear not knowing how you fare._

_Your friend_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_January 3012, Dol Amroth_

_My dearest Lord,_

_Do not fear - I am well and safe._

_I have written two letters for you, but it seems they got lost on their way to you. I wrote one back in April, immediately after receiving and reading your letter, and another in July. Such things happen sometimes, I understand, for the ways between our two realms are not what they used to be. My father says it is nothing to be worried of. But I admit I was also worried about you, not having heard from you for some time._

_Things are as normal here in my home. I have been buried in my studies - when I do not have lessons with my schoolmaster, I work at the House of Healing or do my best to help my sister-in-law to run the royal household. Father thinks I need to be prepared... well, you know for what. He says that being of noble birth never saved anybody from the sword and the terrors of war. He does not want me completely helpless should something bad happen. He says that attending to the wounded at least helps one to bring some sort of order into chaos. I don't know if I agree with him, though._

_But that is enough of me. How are you, my friend? I trust you have remained unharmed by the dangers that seem to be growing in our world. It is frustrating, living so far away from you, and never having a certainty of your good health.  
_

_My father is calling me - I have to stop now. I will look forward to your letter._

_Your loyal friend_  
_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_May 3012, Aldburg_

_My Lady,_

_You cannot imagine what relief your letter brought to me upon its arrival. I was already convinced something bad had happened to you, for I did not think you would have fallen silent out of your own free will._

_I have to admit that the disappearance of your letter fills me with doubt. For some reason, this does not seem as unnerving a matter as your father might think... I do not want to scare you, but perhaps it might be better if we were more careful with our letters? Perhaps it would be safer for the both of us if I did not write to you at all..._

_Do not think I don't want to write to you, however. Your letters bring me joy when the times seem desperate. I find myself reading your words over and over, and I can almost hear your voice speaking to me. But I do not wish for harm to come to you. It would kill me to know I am the one at fault should something happen to you. You are a special young woman, Lothíriel, and sometimes you seem to me like you were someone older than your years._

_I wish this letter will not be lost on its way. I fear I may have said too much._

_Yours, as ever,_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_August 3012, Dol Amroth_

_My Lord,_

_I fear that you may be right. I do not want our private conversations to be read by any outsider. If you feel that someone might want to get their hands on our correspondence, I believe you. But why? Why would anyone want to know what a foolish girl like me has to say? I am no Lord Denethor, after all, and whatever my part to play might be in coming years, I think it will not be very important._

_I feel the same about you and your letters. If I were to describe it, I'd say that our correspondence is like a safe haven for me, where I can shortly escape from the fears of the world and the constant talk of dark things. Your letters seem to bring your very presence here, and as I walk on the shore, I can almost feel you beside me. Forgive me for my bold words, but I feel like I can speak with you more honestly than anyone else, and it does not feel right to hide my thoughts from you._

_I thank you for your kind words. My father sometimes says the same and he thinks I take things too seriously at times. So when I do something foolish, he is so amazed and shocked. He doesn't seem to realize that I am as capable of recklessness as any young girl of my age. I try to be responsible, though – that is what is expected of the daughters of noble families._

_Greet Éowyn for me. It has been such a long since I have heard anything from her._

_With fondest greetings_  
_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_January 3013, Edoras_

_My Lady,_

_I do not know if I can explain you my fears, or if there truly is any reason for me to have such doubt. There are just some things happening, and I cannot help but worry. I cannot tell you what it is, for I do not want to endanger you. And anyway, I do feel you have enough concerns as it is.  
_

_How is life in Dol Amroth? How are your studies going? And what about your family?_

_My sister sends her greetings. She is as well as ever. My uncle has placed her in the charge of the King's household. I'm not sure she's very excited about it – her heart seems to be on battlefields rather than in the business of running the house – but she seems to be good housekeeper. The servants also appear to have lot of respect for her, which is no wonder. If you saw her now, you would understand, for as she is becoming fairer every day, she is also like the queens of old._

_As for me, I have been busy with my usual duties. I have been made the second in command of my éored, and my uncle says that in few years I may become a Marshal of the Mark. This is a dream of mine, I have to confess – to be a Marshal like my father once was. Perhaps, if I serve Théoden King well enough, my dream may come true._

_Last year was not so ill for Rohan. More horses were born and the harvest went well. Shadows were cast over our prosperity, though: it has been reported that the enemy seeks to steal our black horses, and the threat of orc raids is always present.  
_

_I will ride back to Aldburg tomorrow. By that time, may my letter already be on its way to you._

_Your friend_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_May 3013, Dol Amroth_

_My Lord and Friend Éomer,_

_Do not fret - I trust you and your instinct. Just remember I am here to listen to you, if you ever feel the need to talk of your concerns._

_I'm truly glad for you and for your sister. It is a joyful thing that at least some still strive for their dreams. I'm sure you would – and will – make a fine Marshal. Your father would be so proud of you. As for Éowyn, she may not appreciate it, but I do feel glad for her, too. Being in charge of the King's household is a position that many would envy. With her capabilities, I'm sure Théoden King's house will shine like never before._

_Dol Amroth is faring as always. Last summer was prosperous here as well, the harvest probably being about as good as the one you had. Many children were born, too. My father, ever the believer in omens, would stay up all nights trying to comprehend whether these are some sort of signs. I do not know whether to share his beliefs, but I want to believe that this is the Valar telling us there is also some light in future._

_My studies are going rather well. We received new books from Minas Tirith couple of days ago, and I can't wait until I can get to read them. I'm still working at the House of Healing, and Master Berianir seems to be satisfied with my progress. I don't think I'll ever become as skilled as he is, but at least I know my way around herbs and healing better than most of the girls of my age. I have also practised my marksmanship and I daresay I am becoming rather good. Maybe I will have the change to show my skills to you one day (although I do admit I'm still yet not at the point where I could take down the entire army of the enemy, as you once said)._

_As for my family, they are well. Father was a bit sick last month, but he is healthy now. My brothers are as good as ever, bursting with life and plans. I believe you wouldn't find more warlike youths in all Dol Amroth! Erchirion actually killed his first orc couple of months ago in an ambush. Father was so proud of him (even though I have to say that dear Erchirion will probably be eternally bitter that I got to the business of waging war before he did. I try to say it was pure luck on my part)._

_I seem to have slipped once again into my blabbering. Forgive me - it is just so easy to write when I know it is you I'm writing to._

_I look forward to your next letter._

_With warmest greetings_  
_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_December 3013, Aldburg_

_My Lady,_

_Half a year has passed since your letter. I am sorry for not writing to you earlier, but as you might imagine, I am busy as ever and the connections between our countries don't seem to always work in the way one would want to. I wish there was some easier and faster way to send our messages with, so that I could hear about you more often._

_In few days, I will ride to Edoras with my éored. We will celebrate Yule and the passing of another year, as the tradition is. I have heard that people of Gondor celebrate it also. I wonder how much our ways differ from yours. Yuletide is always a joyful occasion, with drinking and dancing and all kinds of sports. It would give me great joy to me if you could one day experience the Rohirric Yule. I do not know when this letter will reach you – it is probably well after the Yule – but I wish you merry Yuletide. May our worries be lifted from our shoulders for at least a little while._

_As for waging war, I trust you haven't engaged in the kind of escapade like the one that almost got you killed? While I completely approve of you being able to defend yourself, I still can't help but fear for you. A real battle is something I'd never want you to experience again. I do not know why, but sometimes I wish you were here not only because of our friendship, but also so that I could keep you safe. This world and era was not made for gentle people like you. The heaviest loss is that of the innocence, the goodness..._

_It is late and I am rather weary. I shall go to rest now – there are many things to do until we can leave for Edoras._

_Your friend_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_August 3014, Aldburg_

_My Lady,_

_Have you received my latest letter? Is everything well in Dol Amroth, or has your message again gotten lost?_

_My uncle has fallen ill. We do not know what is wrong with him, but he seems to be growing weaker, which is not like him for he has always been strong and vital. His adviser, Gríma son of Gálmód, says it will pass and there is nothing to worry about. _(There are some furiously overcrossed lines here, and when she read the letter, she could not decipher what he had originally written.)

_I am sorry for my short and nonsensical letter. I cannot write more._

_Your friend, as always,_  
_Éomer_

* * *

_December 3014, Lossarnarch_

_My Lord,_

_Like you supposed, I did write to you couple of letters and it vexes me that they did not reach you. I only hope they may come to find you some day - perhaps they have just been lost among your uncle's papers, like that one time?_

_Hopefully your uncle will get better soon. I see this is not a good time for him to fall ill - I cannot imagine what would happen should my father weaken. You must be strong now, for your uncle's sake. I'm sure Éowyn needs your support, too. It can't be easy for her to attend to housekeeping while the King is ill. Try take care of yourself as well, my dear friend.  
_

_I am staying in Lossarnarch for a while, with the family of my late mother. I already miss Dol Amroth, even though this land is a beautiful and peaceful place to live in. Perhaps you have heard songs of the flowery Lossarnarch? I understand that your grandmother lived here with your grandfather long time ago. She is actually my relative, too, though distant. We are connected, my lord, not just by friendship._

_I remain your faithful friend_  
_Princess Lothíriel_

* * *

_May 3015, near Eastemnet_

_My Princess,_

_I fear it is becoming more and more dangerous for you to send me letters. The current atmosphere does not courage my communicating with you, or any outlander for that matter. I have been writing this letter for months now in my mind, and I am taking the freedom of sending a messenger of my own, as I do not trust the regular ones anymore. This will probably cause displeasure to my uncle, but I have to take the chance. Please, my princess, do not try to contact me - not for a while, at least. Do not think that this means I will forget about you. You are in my mind every day, and it is not easy to bid you this farewell without knowledge if I will ever hear from you again. In this I must leave you to the grace of the Valar. May they watch over you when I cannot._

_My éored is currently patrolling Eastemnet and I am writing this by the campfire. My comrades laugh at me - Éomer the bold warrior scribbling notes! But as I lay down tonight and watch the stars, I feel that we are connected. The stars I gaze at here in the Mark are the same that shine on you, my lady, in your beautiful city of Dol Amroth. This gives me hope, even though I cannot expect any word from you now. In a way, you are with me even now. We are far away from each other yet so close at the same time._

_May the sun shine upon your road, where ever you go._

_Éomer_

* * *

**A/N: **I suppose this is a chapter that asks for a bit more of suspension of disbelief. When I originally wrote the story, I wanted there to be some contact between Lothíriel and Éomer during the years they would not see each other, and a correspondence seemed to be the only way to resolve this. I've tried to give some time gaps between the letters, for I don't suppose that during these years messengers would ride from Rohan to Gondor every day. I feel that Théoden King would at least encourage such correspondence, for his kin having connections to a royal house in Gondor, even if it was just to a princess, could result in unknown benefits for both sides. But I also think that he'd allow it and even help it (like Imrahil) because he'd see it makes Éomer happy, and not many things do.

On Elphir's marriage: I haven't been able to found any references to his wife and when he married, but his son Alphros was born on 3017. Elphir's wife Aredhel is my own character, and her suffering a miscarriage is also my own invention. As for Alphros' birth year, in this story I seem to have placed it on during the year 3018 and I cannot recall if this is a genuine mistake or a decision I made for plot reasons. Anyway, the real year of his birth would be 3017 but here it'll be 3018.

* * *

**The Hobbit's Rhapsody** - Thousand thanks for your review and your kind words! I can't tell how happy your review made me. It's good to hear that this story isn't as poor as I feared it would be. :) I understand if you don't have the time to go through the text again, but if you could point out those awkward spots, I'd be very grateful. I'd like to improve this story and my language may be awkward at times, but I do my best.

**wondereye - **I can tell you that for the most parts, the story will be told from Lothíriel's point of view. However, there will be some moments when we get to see things through other characters' eyes. But at least in this chapter you get to see a bit of Éomer's thoughts too.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter ****5**

_August 3018, Dol Amroth  
_  
Lothíriel's peaceful afternoon in the House of Healing was disturbed by the alarmed shouts coming from the courtyard. She had been handling some of the freshly picked herbs and preparing them for Master Berianir. But when she heard the shouts, she rushed to the window, and her heart was beating faster with anxiety. These times, sounds like those she was now hearing usually meant that the healers were needed.

A group of knights had ridden to the yard, some of them covered in blood. Then her eyes caught Elphir who was being carefully lowered from the saddle. There was so much blood...

"Elphir!" she exclaimed, terror gripping her heart. She could not think of anything as she rushed out to see whether he was still alive. What had happened? Why was he wounded?

As she got to the courtyard, Elphir was laid on a stretcher. He was awake and when he saw her panic-stricken face, he lifted his good arm.

"It's all right, sister. I am all right", he said. His voice was weak and his face pale, but he didn't look like he was about to die any moment, if anything could be concluded by the fact that he could even muster a smile. A quick glance over him confirmed that there were some cuts on his arm and leg, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"What happened?" she demanded as she hurried to his side.

"Pirates, my lady. We succeeded in chasing them away, but Prince Elphir received some wounds", answered one of Elphir's men quickly. Pirates so near Dol Amroth? Father would be so worried once he heard.

The princess forced her fear to fall behind and she tried to think like Master Berianir had taught her - not like a member of family, but like a healer. After all, had she not been taught that a day could come when she'd have to tend to one of her brothers, and her ability to stay calm could mean death or life? She shot an evaluating chance about her and fortunately saw that there were not others who were injured as seriously as Elphir.

"Carry him in. I'll go call Master Berianir immediately", she ordered and hurried inside to see that everything was ready. Soon the House of Healing was full of rushing healers, tending to the wounded. It was not Lothíriel's first time helping the returning knights, but it was the first time one of her brothers returned wounded, and her heart would not stop beating with dreadful unrest. Quick consultation with Berianir confirmed that her master would not let her help tend to Elphir – according to him, the prince was in good hands and her father and her brothers would need her this moment more than the wounded prince did.

Her father, brothers and sister-in-law soon darted to the House of Healing, as the guards had informed them of Elphir's condition. They all seemed to be out of their minds with fear, but perhaps none so much as Father. Indeed, Master Berianir had been right when he had said that her family needed more immediate attention than any injured men. After all, it wasn't like she was the only capable healer in whole of Dol Amroth.

"It's all right, Father. Elphir's alive. He was not badly wounded – the healers are with him right now", she said as she took her father's hand in her own, and Prince Imrahil let out a heavy sigh and briefly took support from Erchirion's shoulder as relief filled his strong features. Aredhel seemed to be in the middle of similar storm of emotions, almost to the point of collapsing where she stood.

"For a moment I thought..." Father said with weak voice and shook his head, unable to actually speak the words that everyone was nevertheless thinking of at the moment. Then his eyes became attentive again. "Where is he?"

"He's over there, in the backroom. Aredhel? Would you like to sit down for a while?" Lothíriel asked and offered her arm to the older woman.

"I need to see him", she said, still sounding frantic, as if she wouldn't believe Elphir was alive until she could see him with her own two eyes. Knowing Master Berianir's methods, the younger woman decided she'd best serve if she got her sister-in-law to calm down. The healers wouldn't be happy if Aredhel just hysterically rushed in while they were tending to the wounded prince. Or worse: had another miscarriage.

"He is in good hands. You need to calm down, Aredhel. You need to be strong for him... and for your child", the princess said gently and helped the other woman sit down as prince Imrahil and his younger sons went to see if they would be allowed in the room with the wounded prince.

After she had lost her child, Aredhel had changed. Earlier she had been steadfast and strong, but nowadays it seemed that she could not find a peace of mind. She was plagued by fears of losing her family and another baby. Her condition was not greatly improved by the fact that she was again pregnant – it had made her even more nervous and understandably so. She could not stand the possibility of Elphir losing his life, and it made Lothíriel scared to think of what would happen to the poor woman should Imrahil's heir die in a battle.

She spent a good deal of time calming down her sister-in-law. She was needed with the wounded, but she could not just leave Aredhel alone, not when her brother's wife was like this. She had to be there for the older woman, like Aredhel had always been there for her. When she worried about Éomer and whether he was all right, Aredhel would take her hand or hug her, convincing her that he was more than capable of taking care of himself, and that he would not let himself be killed. The princess never pointed out that Elphir just as capable of self-preservance... and now he was in the hands of healers anyway. Lothíriel wondered whether all her life would consist of waiting to hear a word of him and worrying about his welfare.

When Aredhel had calmed down enough, Lothíriel helped her up and she escorted her to the room where Elphir was being treated. Most of the blood has been cleaned, although there were large stains of it on his shirt, but his leg had already been dressed with clean linen. Aredhel wobbled clumsily to Elphir side and took his good hand in her with a burning expression in her dark grey eyes.

Suddenly Lothíriel had the strangest image form inside her mind: herself leaning over Éomer's wounded body, gazing at him with the same desperate way Aredhel looked at Elphir. This picture was so powerful the princess had to leave the room immediately, wishing he could have been here to reassure she would never have to stand by his bedside in such manner.

* * *

Four days later, her father called her to his study. He was standing with his back towards her, gazing to the sea as if the waves contained some secret wisdom he was trying to acquire by staring off to distance. Lothíriel had sat with Elphir and reading her newest book to him when the guard had come to say that her father had requested her presence.

"You called me, Father?" she asked after a short silence. He sighed quietly and then turned to face her. There were deep lines of worry on his brow, and she wished she could somehow ease the burden on his shoulders.

"How is Elphir?" Father asked, although he probably already knew how his heir was faring; Elphir's accident had been very much a scare for all of them. Lothíriel knew her father well enough to realise he was trying to start some uncomfortable conversation with her but wasn't sure how to proceed.

"He is fine. He is already waiting for when he can get up from the bed. His wounds seemed worse than they actually are. With some rest, he'll be as good as new. The hands of Valar were protecting him", the princess answered. Prince Imrahil nodded and sat down by his desk.

"My daughter, there is something we need to talk about", he began quietly. Sometimes his slow way of talking frustrated her and she just wanted him to get to the point. But he was her father, and she should be a patient and humble daughter.

"What is it really, Father?" she bluntly asked, however. He smiled a bit, sensing her frustration just as he always did.

"With Elphir's accident... I have begun to think more and more of my children. Especially you, Lothíriel. I worry about you, you see. I do not know if you are safe here anymore. Lord Denethor shares my concern for your welfare. He thinks you should be sent to a safer place, at least for a time. We have decided to send you to Rohan", he said slowly, staring at his hands so that she couldn't see his eyes.

"But father, how is Rohan any safer than Dol Amroth? Does the shadow not fall on all the lands of Men?" she asked. While she was thrilled by the idea of travelling to Rohan once again, she couldn't shake off her suspicion. She didn't see how she would be any safer in a foreign land, far away from her family... and her correspondence with Éomer did not exactly suggest that it was so safe in the Mark at the moment. Surely her father and Lord Denethor knew and understood that even better than she did?

"It does, my daughter. But this is what your uncle has decided. Furthermore, he thinks it would be good to have some Gondorian influence in the Mark. Lord Denethor believes it would strengthen the alliance between our countries. So this arrangement is not just for your safety, but you should also consider it something of a diplomatic errand", her father argued. "Do not worry. You will be completely safe in Edoras. King Théoden's riders are strong and able men, and I will send some Swan Knights with you."

"What about you? And my brothers and Aredhel? What if you need me here or something happens?" she asked. Unlike she would have thought earlier, she was not feeling entirely comfortable about this situation. A diplomatic errand? True, she had been taught to always present Gondor with honour and dignity, but that was as far as her diplomatic education went. Surely there were more able men for a task of diplomacy than herself?

"We will be fine, my daughter. We can take care of ourselves. It is you I fear for. You are the only Gondorian Princess of your generation and through you, we could perhaps reach a powerful alliance between Rohan. The enemy knows this. He does not want our peoples joining together in fight", Imrahil said, authority colouring his voice. But suddenly his face changed and there was the strangest expression on his face. Lothíriel searched for his eyes, but he rose again and turned his back on her. She felt that there would be no more discussion on this matter. Perhaps Father was right and she was just over-thinking it.

"Well, when will I leave?"

* * *

He watched her.

She was beautiful, of course – more so than she herself knew. The dark hair, the colour the night sky combined with silk, fell down her back like a black river. Her pale skin was clear, soft-looking. In his eyes, her skin had an invitation: _come __and __touch __me_. Her eyes, grey and vivid, watched her surroundings with solemnity that still seemed to hold some of the innocence left in this world. She was tall and slender like her family, but not overly so: her womanly curves were very apparent for all to see. He wondered whether she was completely unaware of how those hips of hers would sway, so that it set him on fire. Perhaps she did it on purpose, knowing the effect she had? Oh yes, she definitely had to know. She was not at all innocent, he was sure of it. It was a trap set for him.

Her gaze would go right past him and she would pretend she did not see him, but he knew that she did. She was teasing him, feeding the fire with her every move.

He wanted her. He wanted to pick that beautiful ripe fruit of her fresh womanhood.

And he would have her. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Saying goodbye to her family was not an easy thing to do. Lothíriel knew she would worry for her father and brothers, and she did not feel good about leaving Aredhel now that the time of her childbirth was so quickly nearing. But as she looked in her father's stony eyes, she knew it wouldn't do to beg him. He was rarely so strict about things, and Lothíriel couldn't help but wonder what his motives truly were.

At the same time, she felt contradicting excitement for her journey. She would see Rohan again! She'd meet her friends... and _him_. It almost made her dizzy and she constantly found pinching herself in case she was sleeping. Surely this had to be some kind of a dream, both wanting to stay yet yearning to leave, and feeling this pain of not knowing which was the right thing to do?

Aradhain, who had accompanied her on her earlier visit to the Mark and had now become a captain, would come along with a group of Swan Knights. They were to stay with her as long as she would stay in the Mark, and in case the King needed their services, they would help in defending Edoras. Her maidservant would come along too. It was not proper for a young unmarried noblewoman to travel with only a bunch of men, after all. Her maid, Naneth, was not too happy about having to leave her home (and her sweetheart who fought with the guards of Dol Amroth), and Lothíriel could not think of any way to cheer the girl up. She fully understood how hard it would be for a young woman to travel to foreign country and stay there who knew for how long. And after all, Naneth did not have things to look forward to once they'd arrive Rohan, like the princess herself had.

So, after long and somewhat teary goodbyes and kissing her father's cheek for the last time, Lothíriel turned and boarded the ship that would take her as far as Minas Tirith, from where they'd continue to Edoras on horseback.

The journey to the Mark was longer than she remembered (on the other hand, she had had good company on the last time she had made the journey). At least this time they would get to ride faster – the captain had ordered Lothíriel to pack lightly, as there would not be supply wagons following them. Aradhain wanted them to ride fast and go unnoticed by any possible orc bands or Dunlendings that may be wandering with murderous intentions on the outskirts of the two kingdoms. Lothíriel had to leave many things behind: she could only take with her one of her favourite books. The rest of the space had gone for clothes, her healer's supplies and other necessary things. She had also taken her bow and Éomer's dagger with her, and for a moment she had felt like some great Shieldmaiden on a way to an adventure. Then she had laughed at herself for having such ridiculous and childish thoughts and stuffed the weapon into her already bulging saddlebag. At least she was allowed to carry her bow openly; Father had said the journey was dangerous and it could save her life if she were armed. Aunt had pursed her lips and looked unhappy, but at least she had remained silent.

Like the last time, they began their travel from Dol Amroth by ship up Anduin. Standing on the deck of the boat, Lothíriel sighed as she watched the city of her birth. The white towers, silver and blue banners fluttering in the wind, and the shapes of her family that grew smaller... She had no idea of when she'd be back and see her home again – if she ever would, like an ominous little voice in her mind whispered. Though she was happy for the chance to see Rohan again, leaving Dol Amroth and her family was still scary.

The journey up Anduin was uneventful, although the crew of the ship always appeared to be on some constant state of alarm. Lothíriel knew it was because of the east side of the river where the shadow always lingered. Larger ships from Dol Amroth could usually pass this way in peace, but it was known that sometimes attacks came and everyone on board was required to defend the ship. As such, Lothíriel kept her bow ready, even if no movement could be seen on the east side of the river.

They arrived to Minas Tirith one early morning and as the day had barely began when they got there, captain Aradhain decided they'd continue right away for the road instead of staying in the city. For this, Lothíriel was rather thankful, though she would have been glad to visit the palace and see if her cousin Faramir was in residence. During past few years it seemed that the shadow so close in the east had grown and was now almost looming over the White City itself. After their horses had been unloaded from the ship and they made for the West Road, Lothíriel looked over her shoulder towards the eastern sky and shivered; it was easy to understand why her late aunt Finduilas had withered under that ever-present shadow. As the city of kings fell behind and the western wind blew through her hair, she felt a bit better.

It had been three years since Éomer's last letter. She had missed writing to him, although she had understood from his messages that somehow it was dangerous for them to be in correspondence. The princess did not exactly know why, but she did not question his judgement. What did she know of the situations he might be in? Rohan was far away from Dol Amroth, after all. So ever since receiving his last letter she had repressed the wish to write to him and ask news of him. Perhaps he would contact her again when the time would be right... Only that time had never come. Now it did not matter, for she would probably meet him, hopefully many times, during her stay in Edoras. Still, certain sense of unease remained. Was he in some kind of trouble? Or what if he had moved on with his life and barely remembered her anymore? Lot of things could happen in three years. Though she knew thinking like that was selfish of her, she still could not help but feel dread for the possibility of him having married some Rohirric woman, and her arriving only to see him surrounded by a growing family, thus leaving him no time to pursue any kind of friendship with her...

They crossed the border without any trouble. According to her father, Lord Denethor had already arranged everything and requested the permission for her entourage to ride through the lands. Lothíriel could only imagine how that had gone – she knew all about her uncle's pride and how he hated to ask permissions from others.

It was the time for harvest in Rohan. As they rode towards Edoras, they passed by many fields where peasants were working. Some of the people turned to watch as they went, looking more than just a little suspicious when they spotted the foreign entourage. When the company first saw peasants working on a field, Lothíriel lifted her hand and waved at them in a way she hoped was enthusiastic and friendly. None of them answered her gesture – they just stared at her with blank faces. Lothíriel frowned at this and wondered why the people seemed so suspicious. She did not wave to anyone after that, though.

During their journey no Rohirric riders made an appearance, which in Lothíriel's opinion was rather strange. She'd have expected at least some kind of group to come and escort them to the capital of the Mark, like the last time she had visited the land of the horselords. Perhaps the riders were needed elsewhere? That brought alarming possibilities into her mind and she tried not to think of any large and fateful battles.

Finally, after many days of riding, they arrived to Aldburg. The sun was setting and it was already too late to continue to Edoras, so captain Aradhain decided to request for a place to stay for a night. After their long travel, the prospect of rest in an actual house seemed very inviting. And so, as they rode uphill and finally arrived to the courtyard of that hall which was the seat of the Lord of Aldburg, they were greeted not by the Marshal but a rider left in command of the town.

"Lord Marshal is not present at the moment, but he is due back by nightfall", said the man, obviously hesitating. For a moment, the princess already thought they'd have to wait outside until the Marshal returned and gave them his leave to stay in Aldburg for the night. However, the Rohir's eyes fell on Lothíriel and his eyes lit up. "Princess Lothíriel! You should have said it was you! It is good to see you again."

The princess did not at first recognise the man, but then realised she had seen him riding with Éomer the last time she had visited Rohan.

"I'm glad to see you too. May we rest here Aldburg for this night? I would appreciate if you would grant your hospitality for us", she said with a smile and curtsied.

"You, my princess, are always welcome to stay here. My Lord Marshal will be happy to hear you are here – he always spoke so well of you", the Rohir said and grinned. His hair wasn't as light as the Rohirrim were usually credited, but his beard and long braids did have the familiar glint of gold, and his eyes were very blue. Lothíriel wondered who this Marshal might be, and where did he know her from, but decided to smile as if she knew the man.

"My lord, might Lord Éomer be here? I'd very much like to see him", she inquired.

"Marshal Éomer is out on a patrol, but he should be back sometime after sunset", answered the rider.

"Marshal Éomer! When did that happen?" she exclaimed, immediately feeling excitement for her friend. She knew how important that was for him, not only as a sign of trust from his uncle but also as a proof of living up to his own father.

"He was appointed a year ago, my lady. He got the position after the old Marshal Ánfeald died. He made me his captain and second in command. My name is Éothain, in case you don't remember", said the Rohir and grinned again. "But do come forth! You must be tired and hungry."

The horses were taken to the stables and the travellers were escorted to the Hall of the Third Marshal. She remembered the place from her earlier visit. Everything seemed to be mostly the same as the last time – she almost expected the young Éomer to pass by her along the narrow corridors of the house.

Being left in charge also meant Éothain was tasked with the duties of the host, and he sat beside Lothíriel to keep her company and to ask tidings from Gondor. As soon as the more urgent news had been exchanged, Lothíriel heartened to ask the Rohir that question which had been on her mind ever since she had come here.

"I was wondering how the Marshal is faring these days. Does he have family here in Aldburg?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady and not too interested. Granted, no Lady of Aldburg had been introduced to her yet, nor had she seen dark-eyed little children running about, but that might not mean anything. Be it as may, she did feel intense relief when Éothain shook his head.

"Lord Éomer is as ever - he never really changes, I think. But to answer your question, he has not yet chosen a companion for life... a great grievance to a lot of unmarried maidens, it seems to me", said the Rohir captain. "He says it is because he doesn't wish to start a family when times are so uncertain, but personally I think it's because he has someone special in mind..."

Lothíriel didn't know what to think of that. _Someone special... _it troubled her, nonetheless. Perhaps he _had _moved on after all.

But then, what business did she have feeling disappointed if he had found someone to love?

While the party was eating, rooms were quickly prepared for them. Lothíriel was granted Éowyn's old room – the one she still used when she happened to visit her birth home. There were not many pieces of furniture except for the bed, a chest, a small table and a chair by the window. But it was actually very cosy, not to mention to the princess it was like a palace after so many nights spent sleeping on the ground.

She dismissed Naneth as soon as they were settled; her poor maid looked like the journey had been even more exhausting for her, and Lothíriel decided the younger woman could use some extra rest. Granted, Naneth looked grateful when the princess told her she didn't need help tonight.

After cleaning herself up as well as she could with the small basin of water and changing into a gown that did not smell entirely of horses and dust, Lothíriel sat down by the window. She could not go to sleep, not now when Éomer was so near. He could be riding home this very moment! It was an exhilarating thought – to see him again after so many years... Then she thought of her family back at home, and especially Aredhel. Had the child been born yet? She could picture Elphir and Father's happiness when the child would come, and Aredhel's own bliss for having a child of hers and Elphir in her arms...

* * *

Even though she had floated into light sleep, Lothíriel was awakened about a half an hour later, when a muster of riders came to the Marshal's House, shouting loudly as they entered the courtyard. The princess sprang from her chair, as if she hadn't been asleep at all and ran out as fast as she could. She did not even stop and regret not grabbing her cloak as she did not realise the chill of the late autumn night. Her eyes were searching desperately... until she saw the tall warrior, slumping heavily in the front of another rider. He did not have his helmet on and there was blood on his face – the face of a man grown, not a boy anymore.

"Lord Éomer!" she shouted, dread filling her with an icy feel. Had she come too late? Had she only come here to see him dead? She ran swiftly to the large warhorse's side and looked pleadingly up to the Rohir who was holding up the other man. "Is he dead?"

"Do not fear, my lady. He is wounded, but not badly. He got a blow to his head, though. Where is the healer?" asked the rider in turn.

"Master Ferdbrego left for Edoras earlier this day. He won't return until tomorrow", answered one of the guards, looking worried.

"Bring the stretcher. I have knowledge of the ways of the healers. I'll tend to his wounds", Lothíriel said, letting her healer's education take over. She could not panic now – Éomer needed her and she had to think fast. She shot a quick glance at one of the stable boys. "Go and tell someone heat up water for me, and bring clean linen. Hurry up!"

The boy ran like all the orcs of Mordor were on his heels. The princess looked up at the man who was currently supporting the unconscious Marshal.

"Are there other wounded men?" she asked, already preparing herself for a long night of work. However, the man shook his head.

"Nothing serious, my lady. You concentrate on the Marshal right now – the midwife Elfgifu can see to the others", he said. He didn't speak more but he did seem to be relieved that she had taken the situation under control.

"It's my fault", said a young red-haired Rohir who was pressing a piece of cloth against a cut on his cheek. "I lost the control of my horse, and I fell, and if not for the Marshal I'd be dead now... he took the blow that was meant for me!"

The youth seemed very distressed, and no wonder that he did. However, one of Éomer's riders patted the younger man's shoulder gently. He spoke in soft Rohirric that sounded like an attempt of comfort.

"Don't blame yourself, young Léohtír. Lord Marshal must have known what he were doing", Éothain said, though he did look rather worried too.

The guards brought a stretcher fast enough, gently laying the unconscious Marshal on it. Then four men lifted their precious burden – Éomer didn't look like he were the smallest of men even without his armor – and Lothíriel followed after them as they carried him to his bedchamber. After carefully removing the arrow head on his shoulder, they took off the heavy hauberk and the padded leathercoat. Hot water and clean linen was brought in, and Lothíriel began to work on the man before her. Only Éothain remained in the room, looking a lot like a man whose son lay on his death-bed.

"Go and see to the others. I have everything under control here, Éothain", Lothíriel said gently to the poor Rohir.

"Will he be all right, my lady?" he asked restlessly.

"I promise he will be", the princess answered, trying to convince herself just as much as the Marshal's second in command. She had to remind herself that her friend's injuries really were not that serious.

"Thank you for your help, Princess", Éothain said solemnly. "I'll leave someone at the door. Just call him if you need something."

With that, he exited and Lothíriel concentrated on the unconscious man before her.

When she opened the thin green shirt he had under the padded one, something fell to her hand. As Lothíriel gently unwrapped the small piece of cloth, she almost broke down again: it was the handkerchief she had made for him long ago. The fabric had faded, its edges seemed frayed and it looked to be in a need of a wash, but the horse and garland frame were the same as she remembered. He had had it against his heart! Lothíriel had to fight against herself to get back her calm – she could not tend to him with shaking hands.

With gentle fingers, she felt his skull in case of wounds, but found only a small bump, which was the likely reason of his unconsciousness. There was a cut on the side of his forehead, and then there was the arrow wound. Nothing very serious, she determined; it was the head trauma that worried her. When she was cleaning the cut on his temple, his dark eyes suddenly opened. However, she did not notice he was awake until he spoke.

"... am I dead? Dreaming?" he rasped quietly. Lothíriel's heart leaped at the sound and she could not prevent a large smile entering her face.

"You're awake! Oh sweet Elbereth, how you scared me!" she said and suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she almost started crying and it took all her willpower not to start sobbing right there. Bursting into tears the first moment he saw her wasn't something she had on her list of things to do.

"Lothíriel? Is it really you?" he asked, blinking his eyes in amazement.

"It is me, you silly man", she said and smiled at him. He tried to rise up then, but she pushed him back with determination. "Stay down. I'm not done yet."

She continued with the cut on his head and when she was ready, she moved over to his shoulder. All the while she worked she could feel him staring at her, as if he didn't still quite believe she really was there. But when she was starting to clean the wound, she made the mistake of finally looking at him.

During the years of their separation, he had become a man. Gone was the lanky boy, replaced by this tall, strongly-built rider. He had powerful arms and shoulders one would expect to be able to carry half of Rohan – and no wonder, for she had seen the amount of armour they had stripped off the man (she was fairly sure that just the weight of his hauberk would have had her falling over). His dark eyes watched her with strange expression in them, his eyebrows, which were darker than his golden hair, arching over them perfectly. His face was evenly shaped and vivid even in stillness, and she secretly noted what a beautiful mouth he had. Also, he had grown a beard, which did not make him look as odd as she had pictured. It rather suited him, to be honest. His dark golden hair was long and wavy, and it was pulled back from his wide forehead (it reminded her of the mane of a lion). Éomer was a handsome man and suddenly Lothíriel was envious of all those Rohirric girls who had been there to watch him become this magnificent vision.

"I have missed you", he finally uttered hoarsely and tried to rise up again, but was once more prevented from doing so.

"I have missed you too, my lord. That doesn't mean you can get up, though", she said, and tears suddenly made way to bubbling joy. How she had waited for this moment! All her worry whether he'd know and remember her was gone, and she felt foolish for ever doubting him. Slowly, a wide grin appeared on his face, and she readily answered that expression with a grin of her own. "Now, are you thirsty? Here, drink a little for me."

She gently lifted his head by the back of his neck and helped him drink. His eyes were on her all the time and he almost choked on water for not paying attention.

"Really, Lord Marshal!" she scolded him, but could not stop smiling. She took her handkerchief and wiped water from his beard. "Please try and stay still so that I can dress that wound on your shoulder."

As she started to work again, he spoke. Now that his voice was a bit clearer she noticed it had become low and pleasant, and she'd very much have liked to listen to him talk for the rest of the night.

"What are you doing here? What brings you to Rohan?" he asked.

"Well, my Father decided I was not safe enough back at home, or something like that. He and my uncle, Lord Denethor, sent me here. But more than fearing for my safety, I feel that they're hoping my visit will have some positive impact on political relations between our countries. My escort and I are just passing through Aldburg – we were planning to leave for Edoras tomorrow", she explained, keeping her eyes on her work.

"You can't", he proclaimed, which quickly made her look at him. Did he mean to ask her stay here? But he continued then: "What I mean is that you cannot leave tomorrow, my lady. You need an escort fit for a princess, and I intend to be on that group, as I have business in Edoras anyway. So unless you know how to heal my wounds for tomorrow, you are not leaving."

"Actually, I did think of that, Lord Marshal. I meant to ask if you would be able to ride with me to Edoras... but, well, this happened and here I am, once again tending to your wounds", she said and flashed a smile at him. He seemed pleased by that and offered her that special smile of his which made his face look softer and gentler. Her heart gave a sudden flutter and she could feel the warmth on her cheeks.

"I'm still not sure whether I am dead or dreaming", he confessed quietly. "Then again, if I had lost my life, surely you would not be here? Unless you are dead, too. Of which I do not approve at all. Weren't you supposed to take care of yourself?"

"I assure you, you are just as alive as I am. And this is not dream as far as I know", Lothíriel said and made the last knot on the bandage on his shoulder.

"But how can I be sure? It has been such a long time since we last met, and I thought there was no hope of seeing you again. I expected they had married you off to some Gondorian lord by now", he said and Lothíriel was sure that the strange tone of his voice could be only called _bitter._

"Hmph. I am quite sure my uncle will be seeking for a grand enough husband for me until he realizes that the man who fills all his criteria never came and I am a grey old maid", she muttered darkly. Éomer said something softly in his own language. After the years of not getting to use Rohirric, Lothíriel did not understand the words. She shot a curious glance at him, and asked: "What did you say?"

"Nothing of importance", Éomer said quietly and sighed. Lothíriel got the feeling he did not want to talk about it and decided to turn the course of the conversation. This was their reunion, after all – it should not be used to talk of bitter things.

"How are you feeling? Does your head bother you?" she asked.

"It hurts a bit, now that you mention it, my lady", he said and seemed almost surprised to notice the ache in his skull.

"Luckily for you, Lord Marshal, I happen to have just the thing to help you", she said proudly and dug through her healer's supplies (one of the men had brought the bag from her room). She took a small vial from the leathery bag, dosing precisely a small amount of the liquid on a wooden spoon. After mixing it with some water, she offered the drink to him and he swallowed it with one mighty gulp.

"Now, I suspect you may have a case of concussion. You need one of your men to stay here for the night and wake you up every two hours. I can do it for you, too, if you want", she said then, returning in her healer mode.

"No, no. You must be exhausted from your journey and having to tend to me in the middle of the night, my lady. Look at you! There are dark circles around your eyes! You need to go sleep and rest. Send Éothain here when you go – I need to speak with him anyway. He'll order someone to stay with me for the night", he objected.

"Well, I suppose I could use some sleep", Lothíriel agreed and rose up. "Send for me if you need my help, my lord."

She was about to turn for the door when he grabbed her hand. The princess froze on the spot and looked down at him. He was staring at her, his eyes wide, intense.

"I am glad to see you again, my Princess. More than you know", he said very quietly.

"I am glad to see you too, Lord Marshal", she smiled. Softly he pressed his lips on her knuckles, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. When she began to think he would never release her hand, he suddenly let go of it and his arm fell down on the mattress.

She felt breathless and a bit dizzy with happiness for seeing him again after so many years, but at least her voice was clear and strong when she spoke:

"We'll talk tomorrow, my lord. Now you must rest."

"Good night, Lady Lothíriel."

"Good night, Lord Éomer."

* * *

**A/N: **And here we are, back in Rohan again! I must say, now that I'm editing this part of the story, I remember how much I loved to write this phase of their relationship and no wonder I was so anxious to get Lothíriel back to the Mark so quickly. I know the whole travel part was mostly skipped, but it didn't feel like a good idea to extend that part of the story too much, as nothing important happened during the journey anyway.

A bit of history: Éomer did indeed become the Third Marshal of the Mark in 3017. I haven't found any mentions of his predecessor, so I took the liberty of naming him Ánfeald. Personally, I think that this would have been very important for Éomer. Though at this point, his father has been dead for a long time, I think he'd regard Éomund as something of a paragon.

Now, I'm sure you noticed that small bit about "the watcher" (that's how I'll call this character at the moment). To be honest, I'm not too taken with that part of the story myself, and though I've tried to do my best to edit it, I fear it remains something of a cliché. I even considered taking away the whole "watcher" thing, but then realized that would present some problems later and it would be pretty painstaking to make everything work (you'll see later - but let's not get ahead of ourselves). So I chose to leave it and bear whatever critique that might cause. However, I'll leave that for you to decide, good reader.

Also, thanks for the comments! I'm really glad to hear that you people like this story! :) As always, I'd be happy to receive feedback, especially on my grammar and typos.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The first thing in the morning after dressing up and sending Naneth to enjoy some breakfast, Lothíriel grabbed her bag of healing supplies and hurried off to see her warlike patient. Her heart felt surprisingly light this morning, and it was no wonder to her why that was so. She tried to keep her pace even – it was no place for a proper princess to dash about – but could not help but hurry down to his door. It felt like she couldn't get to him fast enough.

The door was slightly ajar and she knocked it to announce her arrival. Then she stepped in and as soon as her eyes fell on the Marshal, she smiled for the sheer pleasure of him being there.

Éomer was already up, standing by the window and reading some piece of parchment, brow knitted and eyes pensive. He was not wearing his armour (it was placed on a stand by the corner), but a simple brown tunic and dark breeches. He lifted his eyes when she stepped in, and an instant smile graced his lips.

"My lord, who gave you the permission to get up?" she demanded to know when she saw him up and about.

"And good morning to you also, my lady", he said, amused. "I was feeling quite well this morning, so I saw no reason to keep lounging in my bed."

"And your head?" she asked. "Has it bothered you?"

"Not at all. I am as good as ever", he promised.

"Let me see your wounds, my lord", Lothíriel requested and after taking off his shirt he sat down obediently. The cut on his forehead seemed to be healing well - she speculated it might not even leave a scar. Then she opened the bandage around his shoulder and examined the wound. It seemed rather good, too. The Marshal's wounds would heal in no time. Only when she had replaced the bandage with a fresh one did she realize how warm his skin felt under her fingers and what a large man he was; suddenly, she found it hard not to stare at him. She could feel her ears getting hot and turned her attention to her bag of healing supplies. Usually, she didn't react like this when she tended to her male patients, many of whom often were in various states of undress.

"Your injuries seem to be healing well. I'd give them couple of days, though - I do not want that wound on your shoulder to open up on road. I'd say we'll be able to leave by the end of the week", she said, trying not to stumble over the words.

"My lady, if you were trying to convince me to not to ride, you did not succeed very well. Maybe I should go riding this very morning so that I can keep you here with us a bit longer?" he teased her.

"Really, Lord Marshal! The things you say..." Lothíriel said, pretending to be horrified by his words. She did not meet his gaze but tried to look like she was searching for something from her bag. That way, her hair fell over her face in such manner that he would not see her blush. He did not need to know that she'd very much have liked to stay here with him. After all, he had better things to do than to waste his time with her.

"I have a way with words, Princess", he said innocently and put his shirt back on. "Now, I assume you haven't eaten breakfast yet?"

"That is correct", she answered.

"May I escort you to the hall and offer you my most delightful company, your highness?" he asked, rising up from the bedside.

"Indeed you may, my lord. Let me just take my healing supplies back to my room", Lothíriel said and felt finally collected enough to look properly at him. Èomer seemed to be completely at ease, a bright smile on his face and his eyes glinting, and the princess couldn't remember if she had ever seen him looking so happy. For a moment, her heart felt too big to fit in her chest.

He escorted her to the door of her bedroom – she basically just dropped the leather bag on her bed as she did not want waste any moment she could spend with her dear friend – and then returned to him. Together they walked to the hall. Most of his men were already gathered there, laughing and talking as they wolfed down their food. Éomer nodded to his riders who merrily hailed at him, happy to see the Marshal up and about. The way men greeted their Marshal seemed most different when Lothíriel thought of how her father's soldiers behaved back at home. It wasn't that the Swan Knights didn't respect Imrahil; the Rohirrim just seemed to have a less reserved and more friendly relationship with their chiefs.

The pair sat down by the Marshal's table that was situated on a dais by the end of the hall. He offered her a chair beside himself and he sat on the very centre – a seat he would only surrender for the Lord of the Mark or the Crown Prince. Éomer nodded at one of servant, who had been observing the Marshal closely in case his services were needed and came carrying food and drinks for them. The food was simple and nutritious, securing strength for the day's work. Lothíriel, however, hardly even noticed what she was eating – she was so caught up in the animated conversation that had rose between them the moment they had sat down. She told him news from Dol Amroth and Gondor, her life during the past ten years and he answered with tales of his own recent deeds (which was a conversation they'd carry on for many, many days).

"My lord, I just realized I haven't even congratulated you for your new position as the Third Marshal. I am very glad for you", she said when they were finishing their meal. He beamed proudly; although he had been a Marshal for about a year now, it looked like the fact that he had lived up to his father never failed to give him this feeling of prowess.

"Thank you, my lady. You are too kind", he said and smiled. She then asked of his sister and uncle; of the first one he spoke of lengthily, but of Théoden King he only muttered that the man was as ever.

Perhaps it was the brief troubled look on his face that brought it back to her, but suddenly Lothíriel was reminded of something important - a question she had been meaning to ask him ever since she had seen he would be fine. "Why did you stop writing to me, my lord?"

His amiable expression darkened and turned into a frown; it was as if a shadow had fallen on him. He bent his head towards her, his voice not more than a whisper.

"Did you understand the message I could not address to directly?" he asked quietly.

"I got the impression you thought you were being watched and your letters weren't safe", she answered, keeping her voice low also.

"That is right. I was not sure anymore whether our correspondence would be safe for either of us. You see, Edoras is no more the way you might remember it. My uncle has become old and tired... and in his old age and weakness, he has begun to listen to other voices than those nearest to him. His advisor, Gríma Wormtongue" – Éomer spat the name with utter despise – "has gained more and more power during recent years. It has not proved to be a good thing, my lady", he explained quietly. "I am not a favourite of his and I do not know what his intentions might be, so I deemed it better than I am in no contact with you."

"I see", Lothíriel whispered and felt the cold grasp of worry in her heart. It looked like her father and Lord Denethor might have been seriously mistaken in thinking that Edoras, or Rohan altogether, would be somehow safer for her or anybody. But she suppressed that thought – it was not as if she were alone. She knew she could place her trust on Éomer. He would watch her back, no matter what. But then, he was a soldier, and if Théoden King's court housed snakes like this Wormtongue, much more subtle skills of battle would be needed... and Lothíriel didn't know if either of them had those.

"Do not be fearful, my Princess. I will not let any harm come to you as long as you stay in Rohan", he promised and lifted his hand as if to touch her, but then let it drop down.

"I know, Lord Marshal. I trust you", she answered quietly. Very quickly, yet gently, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Then he let her hand go and got up.

"There are some things I need to attend to. Will you be fine by yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, I am fine. Go ahead, my lord. But if you overexert yourself and get that wound open, I will not be so gentle and understanding", Lothíriel urged and even succeeded in summoning a mock face of strictness. It made him smile, which was the best she could hope for after such a conversation.

"As my Lady commands", he said smoothly and nodded at her.

As she watched him go, the princess could not help but wonder exactly with what kind of mess she had gotten herself involved by coming here.

* * *

After finishing her breakfast Lothíriel returned to her room. She took some of her clothes out of the saddlebags but decided not to unpack all of her things. Her escort would be leaving in few days anyway, so there was no reason to try and settle down here, though she knew very well which town of Rohan she'd have preferred to stay in, especially after the news she had received.

When she had organized the contents of her saddlebag again the princess decided to go and explore the town a bit while she still had the chance, as there was no knowing when she'd get to visit Aldburg again. Naneth and one of the captain's men came with her, of course; evidently her father had ordered at least one Swan Knight accompany her whenever she went out. She knew better than to argue against this arrangement but it still made her feel self-conscious and paranoid.

During her calm stroll out in the sunny courtyard, she came across the local House of Healing (though if one was of more cynical spirit it could have been called the Hut of Healing). It was nowhere near as eloquent a building like the ones in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith – the wooden building itself was kind of small and looked forlorn to the princess. On a sudden impulse, she went in.

Master Ferdbrego, the local healer master, had not yet returned from Edoras, so the building was dark and empty. There were two rooms only and a musty scent hung in the air that should not have been there, given that the man who laboured here had been away only for a day. Lothíriel drew back the curtains before the window to let the light in and turned to inspect the insides of the house.

For a long moment, she just stood staring and imagining what her own master back at Dol Amroth would have said. He would have been horrified, she was sure. Never had she seen such disorder and chaos as she saw on the narrow shelves: all the herbs, vials and other supplies were in utter disarray. The small writing desk was flooding with various pieces of parchment and one of the drawers was bursting with linen to be used as bandages. Lothíriel, however, would never have dressed anyone's wounds with those linens. For starters, they did not even seem very clean. The first lesson she had even gotten in the art of healing was that cleanliness was the primary key to recovery.

The princess took a deep, calming breath and then turned back to face her guard.

"Innas, might you be willing to do a favour for me?" she asked.

"Anything you ask, my lady", he answered and bowed.

"I want you to go and find the housekeeper. Ask her to send two aprons, some hot water and soap for me here. And take that box of so called dressings out of my sight. You can tell her to use them for whatever she wants – I think they would make good dish rags", she ordered with the same calm authority she had seen Master Berianir exhibiting so many times. The Knight nodded and left to do as she had requested.

Lothíriel herself, with the help of Naneth, drew back all the curtains, opened the windows to let in some fresh air and started the humongous work of creating order in this chaos. From a shelf to shelf they went, wiping the dust with clothes they had found from the box of linen and inspecting the herbs and vials and then ordered them in a manner that only a person who had spent hours and hours in such work could. She remembered perfectly how healing supplies were arranged in Dol Amroth and she used the same idea for organisation here, until the shelves were spotless and the supplies were in array, easily to be found when they'd be needed. That feat itself took two hours even with Naneth's help, but Lothíriel barely noticed the time.

Finally, when she was satisfied with the shelves, she went over to the desk and started sorting out the scrolls and pieces of parchment. That was what the two young women were still doing when Master Ferdbrego arrived.

The man froze at the doorstep and for a long moment, he just stared at the room, as if he had suddenly stepped into a Dwarven cave instead of his station of work. Then he turned to Lothíriel, his eyes blazing.

"You foolish girls! What have you done to my supplies? You have completely ruined my order! How am I supposed to find anything in this mess?" he barked. Lothíriel was instantly offended.

"_This __mess?_ Good mister, this so called _mess_ is what we in Gondor call _order! _How are you supposed to treat to your patients when all the supplies are in complete disarray and you don't even have clean linen?" she snapped back and slammed down on the desk a pack of recipes for medicine she had been sorting out.

"You seem to have forgotten that this is not Gondor, girl! My herbs were perfectly organized before you came here and started messing around with your foolish ideas of order!" the healer shouted.

"That is nonsense! What do you propose I should have done last night had I not brought my supplies with me when Lord Marshal was brought injured from an ambush? What if his injuries had been worse than they actually were and he had died while I was trying to make sense of this chaos?" the princess yelled.

"You treated Lord Éomer? That is my responsibility, young lady!" Master Ferdbrego growled.

"So he should just have laid waiting for all the night and morning for you, even though there was someone around who actually could help him?" she threw back.

"You arrogant child!"

People were gathering on the door now, curious of what was happening. Lothíriel was about to answer the healer, when she heard another voice – a familiar and commanding one: "Make way!"

Éomer appeared on the doorstep, filling the door frame entirely. He always seemed to fill the room when he stepped in – especially when he was angry.

"What is going on in here?" he barked impatiently.

"Someone let these girls in and they have made a mess of my things! How am I supposed to do my work here now?" the healer raged and threw his arms in the air.

"We were just trying to help and make some sense of the chaos in here! Have you seen his linens for wounds, Lord Marshal? Your men could get very sick because of them!" Lothíriel defended herself and her handmaiden, who was looking pale and more than just a little startled.

The Marshal frowned at the healer.

"She is a Princess of Gondor, and I expect you to show some respect to her. She did not mean you any harm – your reaction is completely out of proportion, Master Ferdbrego", Éomer said in a strict, authoritative voice. It made the other man flush, but he did not say anything. Then the Marshal turned his eyes to the princess. "Do not think you are completely innocent. You should not have come here and meddle with the master's supplies. You should have waited for him to come back and then ask if he needs your help."

"I certainly don't need her help! And I never did!" the healer muttered, looking sort of satisfied.

"Silence. I do agree that you should keep better order here", Éomer said in a voice that closed the topic. Then he turned his eyes to Lothíriel. "My lady, why don't you come with me?"

She was feeling utterly embarrassed and did not trust her voice. So she just nodded and followed him out, not meeting anyone's gazes. This was exactly what Aunt Ivriniel had meant when she said that Lothíriel could be so overbearing sometimes... especially when her intentions were perfectly good. Obviously, she should listen to her aunt more.

The princess only spoke when they were at the Marshal's House.

"I didn't mean any harm", she said quietly and he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I know that you did not, and frankly I completely agree that the master should learn a lesson or two about order. But I had to give him some sense of satisfaction. As you already noticed, he can be difficult to deal with... I'd rather have him somewhat content than let him feel utterly insulted. Everything runs smoother that way and he does better work when he is on good mood and to be honest, he is not a bad healer... after all, you _could _have asked for permission", Éomer stated. Lothíriel nodded quietly, not meeting his eyes. Gently his hand crept under her chin and lifted her face. There was tenderness in his eyes – the kind she did not remember seeing in them before (except perhaps for the last night?). "Do not fret, my lady. I would imagine that the citizens find your rising up to Master Ferdbrego rather refreshing."

"I made a completely fool of myself", she said, however, and felt more than just a little miserable.

"Nonsense. I rather admired the way you stood up for yourself. Master Ferdbrego will not recover any time soon, and I daresay we shall soon see him enjoying the order you brought into his realm", he said and grinned.

At that, Lothíriel finally smiled.

* * *

Always vigilant, he watched her.

Ever since they had arrived to Aldburg he had seen a new kind of flush on her usually pale face. There was light in her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Her usual solemnity was gone for the most parts, replaced with this strange contentment. It was an odd thing to see in a world that was filling with shadows.

He had watched her enough to know why. It was the tall Marshal - the damned horselord.

Every morning, the two of them would go for a short stroll through the village, with the girl Naneth following closely by. Then they would part and the Marshal returned to his duties, and both of them would be wearing almost identical expressions of delight. She would entertain herself training with her bow, chatting with her maidservant while occupied by some needlework, reading her book or making friends with the locals. On dinner, she would sit beside the Marshal.

And they would talk. Always talk. There was no end to it! She was revealing her mind to the Marshal and he would take in all that secret knowledge, she would smile at him with that special smile on her lips... And _he_ recognized the expression in the Marshal's eyes, even though the horselord tried to guard himself all times. Yearning. Desire. For _her_.

_He_ knew a competitor, a very threatening one, had entered the ring. If he would not do something, the flower he _wanted_ would fall in the hands of another.

* * *

On the last night before their departure for Edoras, Éomer took her out for a short walk (they never got very far from the doorstep, though - it was important for them to be seen by the guards so that no questions of propriety would arise). The dinner had been heavy, so some fresh air and exercise seemed like a good idea. Lothíriel knew she would miss their calm strolls together once she'd arrive to Meduseld, but she did not speak of it. Then again, she did have a feeling that he might agree.

"My lady, there are some things you need to know before we ride to Edoras", Éomer said quietly once they were out. It was a beautiful night: the sky was clear and the moon was already riding high, painting the plains with silver. On a night like this, it was easy to understand why elves so loved the night.

"What is it, my lord?" the princess asked and glanced at him curiously.

"You remember what I said of my uncle's advisor?" he inquired, keeping his eyes in front of him, but he did catch her silent nod from the corner of his eye. "You have to be very careful around him. He is a powerful man and going against him would only cause you harm. Remember that, my lady. Remember that well. Even I have to remind myself often... It is not easy with my temper."

"I'll be careful", she promised. "It's not like I'm very important anyway. This man will probably not even pay any attention to me."

"I trust you... and I trust my sister to keep you safe. I believe Wormtongue will not have any interest in you as long as you stay away from him. However, should something happen, even if it's not related to him... send a message for me. I'll come for you as quickly as my horse Firefoot will carry me, and I'll visit Edoras as often as I can. But do not pick just any man to deliver the message, if the need appears. Ask guidance from my sister. She knows who you can trust. Should something happen and you can't get a word to me, go to Éowyn. She knows how important you are to m- to Gondor."

He spoke with silent, slow voice, but Lothíriel could sense his discomfort. There was certain edge to his voice, she could tell; she could feel his desperation, his fear for her, and the extent of it surprised her. For that reason, she could not argue with him, even if she did feel a bit uncomfortable about his words. Maybe letting him do this for her would give him some peace of mind.

"Don't worry, my lord. I promise I will be careful and take care of myself", she promised. He stopped walking then, turning to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, but did not seem to find his voice, and there on his face was something deeply troubled. Then he tried again and this time words actually came out of his mouth, but his voice was odd, even somehow pained.

"Blue suits you well. You look very beautiful – if I did not know better, I might think I had come across a high lady of the First-born", he said finally. His words did astonish her and she quickly looked at him, but he would not meet her gaze... and she wondered what precisely had him saying such a thing. But whatever his intentions behind the words were, her heart was suddenly filled with strange ache and she felt like crying, and she did not know why. Suddenly, she wished Aredhel was here to give her advice. Her sister-in-law had always been so much better at making sense of emotions such as this.

"Lord Éomer!" Éothain, the Marshal's second in command, shouted from the main entrance of the House. The Marshal turned abruptly and he looked somewhat annoyed by the distraction. Still, he offered her his arm and they walked back.

"What is it?" he asked and Éothain started talking quickly in Rohirric. Lothíriel's grasp on the language had been improving past few days and she even understood some words, but in essence she could not tell what the warrior was saying to his master. Not to mention her head felt too dizzy with all the thoughts that were currently racing in her mind.

Éomer listened closely to Éothain's words, but did not give an immediate answer. Instead he looked back at the woman beside him.

"There are some things I need to attend to, my lady. You should go and rest for the journey tomorrow", he suggested. That sounded like a good idea to her. So she curtsied – if a bit ungracefully – and bid good night to the two men. They bowed to her and she started making her way to her chamber.

The corridor she needed to cross to get into her room was completely dark – someone had apparently put out the torches. Lothíriel was not particularly fond of pitch-black corridors, but she braced herself. The way to her room wasn't that long, after all. Still, she hoped she had a candle to light the shadows.

She had crossed about the half of the dark corridor when something moved in the shadows. Lothíriel could only see a dark shape in the front of her and she was still peering at the stranger when he grabbed her. He covered her mouth, preventing her from screaming, and his other arm held her in steely grip.

"I have been watching you, little princess", he whispered with a low raspy voice. "For some time now. Those delicious hips of yours... you are such a temptress. What can man do? You haven't let _him _touch you, have you? It would be such a shame if he got to you first... You're mine, you know!"

She tried to struggle, to drive her elbow into his guts, but he was stronger than her. It was of no use to fight back. Why had she left her blade in her room? Panic started to arise in her, her limbs freezing over the terror. But inside, she was screaming. _Éomer! __Help __me!_

"I know you want it too, don't you? You do, I know it. Such soft flesh... You _will _want it. They all do. I'll make you see!" he growled and started to drag her after him. But by the grace of Valar, or just some gloriously well-timed accident, he stumbled over something, and his hand slipped away from her mouth.

For a second, there was perfect clarity in her mind. She screamed from the very top of her lungs, and the sound was so shrill and blood-freezing that it startled even Lothíriel herself. Her attacker cursed heavily and thrust her back so violently that she fell over. Then he was gone, and there were shouts nearing her, but the clarity was gone and she was shivering and sobbing and terror pulsed in her very veins... She barely registered the fact that now there were two guards looming over her, the other carrying a torch in his hand. She did not understand a word they said and she almost screamed again when the shorter of the two tried to touch her shoulder, because surely they would only carry on from where the man had left off...

But then a large shape was running towards them, taller than the others, and she thought she would just die from sheer relief, because now her life-saver was here, sweeping her in his arms and she was safe safe safe...

"Princess Lothíriel!" he called her and she could hear the fear and alarm in his voice and she wanted to soothe him and tell nothing was wrong anymore, but she could just cry with relief.

"T-t-there w-was a... a... m-man! He g-grabbed m-me... H-he w-w-wanted to..." she barely whimpered, but it was more than enough for the Marshal. He instantly started barking commands to his men, and the riders rushed to see if they could still reach the attacker. Her friend gathered her against himself and held her, muttering words of comfort.

It was only then she realized she was not the only one shaking.

* * *

Lothíriel only started to come back to her senses when he had carried her into her room, placed her on the edge of her bed and ordered Master Ferdbrego to fix something soothing for her. Her maidservant Naneth fussed around her, looking like it was the poor girl's fault that this had happened. Éothain was standing at the door, waiting for the Marshal's orders. The man's hand was on his sword, as if he were expecting the mysterious attacker make another appearance any moment.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Éomer asked when he had made sure she was not hurt – there were only some bruises on her arms – and the princess was calm enough to talk. He was crouching in the front of her, his face serious but his eyes ablaze with barely contained anger. Only much later she would understand what kind of effort it had taken for him to stay calm and not just chase after the attacker in murderous fury.

"I... I was coming back here when I realized that the corridor was dark... I was h-halfway when... when I saw something moving i-in the shadows. I-I did not realize what was happening until... until he grabbed me. He covered my m-mouth and I couldn't call for help. He s-said he w-w-wanted me and then he s-started to... to drag me, but he stumbled over s-something and his hand slipped. That's when I screamed", Lothíriel explained, her voice failing even though she tried to keep it steady. Éomer listened to her quietly, but his face betrayed his emotions.

"Did you see this man? Can you describe him?" he asked.

"It was too dark. I couldn't see anything. I suppose he was wearing a chainmail... That is all I know", she answered slowly, her voice becoming steadier now.

After collecting himself for a moment, Lord Éomer nodded and stood up, looming over her in a manner that suggested instant death for anyone who dared to hurt her.

Master Ferdbrego was on the door, peering curiously inside. Éothain took the potion from him and sent the man away. The Marshal exchanged few short words with the warrior and received the potion, which he then gave to Naneth. Finally he turned back to Lothíriel.

"I say you should change into your nightgown and drink this calming drink master Ferdbrego has brought for you. Do not fear, my lady – I'll place guards by your door for the night. Your maid will stay with you as well", Éomer said. "You should rest, anyway. We have a long road ahead tomorrow."

"Has... has there been any sight of... him?" Lothíriel whispered the question.

"None at all. The bastard seems to be long gone", Éomer answered, his voice turning harsh. "Do not worry. If he shows up again, he'll be taken care of. Permanently, I might add."

The princess nodded and let out a long, heavy sigh. The Marshal's face softened and he touched gently her shoulder.

"Good night then. Should you need anything, the guards will be right behind your door", he promised again and squeezed her shoulder tenderly. Then he and Éothain exited.

Lothíriel was calm now, but somehow her body didn't seem to work at all like it should. Naneth had to undress her like a child and help the nightgown on her, after which the maid escorted the princess to bed. Master Ferdbrego's potion tasted bitter, but it quickly calmed her into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **It appears there's some competition as far as Lothíriel's attentions go... This is partly what I mean when I say I'm not entirely happy with this particular thing in the story. But I'm working on it and hopefully it'll turn out something slightly better than it originally was!

One thing on characterization. Though Lothíriel is rather quick to judge Master Ferdbrego's methods, her views are biased and I feel that essentially, the poor man isn't too bad a healer. They just happen to have clashing personalities, and for that it's probably good that she is due to leave Aldburg soon.

* * *

**Ortholeine - **You're definitely correct about that, and currently I'm trying to come up with something to flesh out this "watcher" arch a bit more. Gosh, I'm suddenly so worried I'm going to disappoint everyone. Anyway, thanks!

**Lucy - **Glad to hear that! It makes all warm and fuzzy inside to know that my story can actually make people feel such happiness. No worries - updates will come. If not daily, then at least every second day.

**wondereye - **Yes, I try to hold on to Lothíriel's POV, but I do my best to present Éomer's thoughts too. Good that it has worked so far.

As for what Éothain says... well, I'd think he'll be happy with whatever Éomer deems best.

**solar1 - **So far I've got 28 chapters done and that should be it.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter7**

The atmosphere next morning was not exactly that buzzing that usually came with the prospect of travel. Instead, watchful wariness loomed heavily over the courtyard of the Marshal's House. The man who had attacked the Princess last night had not been found, which understandably made Lord Éomer frustrated. He watched his surroundings with strict, observant eyes as if his gaze could bring out the guilty man. Assaulting women was considered a grave crime both in Gondor and Rohan, and men with such tendencies were highly despised. If one was found guilty of that crime, it often meant the social banishment. In Rohan, the treatment was even more unforgiving: assaults on women sometimes led into lynchings, of which even the law seemed to approve of, or at least turn a blind eye to.

Not to mention how many of the people living in Aldburg seemed to take it as a personal insult to their town, to house someone who would attack a Gondorian princess. Lothíriel could understand that feeling and she hoped that no word of what had happened would reach her family. If Father got a wind of this, he'd no doubt tell her come home, no matter what hopes Lord Denethor had for the young woman's visit.

As a princess, Lothíriel was more or less used to being at the centre of attention. She might not particularly enjoy it, but she could bear it. However, this time it was different. This time the attention made her feel awkward and uncomfortable. She didn't like it when people seemed to tiptoe around her and treat her like she was made of glass and was about to break. Nor did she particularly enjoy feeling like the weak little woman who needed always to be saved. It wasn't that she was ungrateful – she just didn't like feeling helpless.

Because of this, she was relieved when Éomer finally gave the sign and the horses were urged to move. Soon Aldburg would be left behind and hopefully other matters would arise to occupy everyone's attentions. Still, Lothíriel was not so pleased that her last night in her friend's home had been such a nightmare and hoped to be able to come back to receive new, better memories of it.

Also, she was unsure whether she should be going into hysterics or be in some state of aftershock. In fact, she was feeling oddly peaceful for a person who had been attacked in such manner just last night. She did not _want _to go into hysterics (it would only make Lord Éomer go mad with worry), but somehow felt it was expected of her. She toyed with the idea of making some kind of a scene, but that conflicted her discomfort of being always the weak little woman. She _was _jumpy, though, and she found herself constantly glancing around in wariness, especially at the warriors who seemed to be swarming everywhere around her. She had even hidden Éomer's blade under her cloak in case she needed to defend herself, and she'd often reach for its hilt to make sure it was really there if she needed it – even if it was unlikely that anyone would assault her in the middle of dozens of riders. For all she knew, her attacker could be riding right behind her!

Some time after Aldburg had disappeared behind the hills, Éomer let his horse fall behind so that he was riding side by side with Lothíriel. He had been busy all morning and the two of them had not gotten a chance to talk.

"How are you feeling, princess?" he asked, his voice low and wary.

"I am better, I suppose", she answered and gave him a faltering smile.

"You are very brave, my lady. Some women I know would not be as calm and collected as you currently are", he commented.

"I am just waiting for a good moment to go into hysterics", she tried to joke, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. "What of you, my lord? Are you all right?"

"You should not be worrying about anyone else than yourself now", he remarked and looked vehemently at her.

"I will be fine, my lord. I thank you for your concern", she said. Lothíriel wished she could have explained how she had felt when she had heard him approaching her on that dark corridor – how her terror had left her in a blink of an eye just by the sight of him. In a way, he had pulled her from dark depth. But she could not form words that would make him understand, and she wasn't so sure if that was a proper thing for a princess to say, so she remained silent. Even more she wanted him to stop worrying for her, wanted to explain how it partly made her feel weak and helpless, but realized this was something she could not make him understand. He seemed to have formed some kind of an obsession about her safety.

"I promise that _monster _will not touch you. You will be safe in Edoras – I'll even arrange guards for you, if you want. I'll stay with you myself all days and nights if that's what it takes", he muttered and then seemed to regret speaking up. Lothíriel got the impression he had not exactly meant for her to hear those last words. She decided to not say anything and pretended to be highly interested in her mare's mane.

After that they did not speak, but he stayed there beside her for the most of the journey.

The sun was already setting when they arrived in Edoras. The sky seemed to be on fire, with deepest red, orange and yellow colouring it. Lothíriel knew of the uncertainty and tension that resided in the town these days, but she could not help but feel joy at the sight of Meduseld and the houses on the hill. It was almost like meeting an old friend after being separated for many years. Éomer cast a pointed glance at her when they passed through the gates. She did not need his words to understand what he was trying to communicate: _be careful._

The town itself had not changed much since the last time she had been here. Some new houses had been built, but to her delight she could actually recognize many of the faces of the people. They were older now, though, and those who had been but youth during her last visit were now mothers and fathers of small children. People greeted the Third Marshal with the waves of their hands and friendly shouts. No matter how things were in Meduseld, in this town he still was a welcomed visitor.

Their arrival had been sighted from the King's estate the minute the group had rode to the plains around Edoras, and the stablemen were there to take the horses under their care. Lothíriel noticed her maidservant, Naneth, was glancing around with big, awed eyes; it was the first time the girl was here and seemed to be impressed by what she saw. A fond feeling came to the princess when she realized she must have looked very much the same when she had first visited here.

As they climbed the stone steps towards the entrance of the Golden Hall, Éomer stayed near Lothíriel. She wanted to point out that even if her attacker was among them, he would not attempt anything in the hall of Lord of the Mark. But his hard face told this was not really the time to point out anything to him, even if they had not been entering the King's hall.

Due to the Rohirrim's love for wood and rich earthly colours the Golden Hall was not by any means as light as the white palaces of Gondor, but she still was surprised what a gloomy atmosphere there was in the hall she remembered as such a lively place, full of laughter and life. Now small groups of the guard were standing here and there, speaking very quietly and looking a lot like someone had just died. The servants went about their errands with similar solemn faces, and also looking a bit like they were hoping no one would see them.

Théoden King sat on the same elaborately carved throne he had often occupied during Lothíriel's first stay in the town. However, she couldn't have imagined a more drastic change in the Lord of the Mark even if she had tried. The King was dressed in heavy robes and some kind of thick fur on his shoulders like he was feeling cold in the warm hall. In ten years, he had become an old man, his face lined and weary and eyes full of shadows. His hair was entirely white now and he seemed to be crouching. His eyes, so alert and sharp when she had last seen the man, now seemed to look somewhere faraway. It was a striking contrast to the strong, vital man Lothíriel remembered.

On his left side stood a tall woman who could have been the Queen herself – such a graceful and noble a sight she was. However, Lothíriel quickly realised it was Éowyn. The older woman had become just as formidable as the Gondorian princess had expected. Like her brother, Lady Éowyn was tall and regal and regarded her surroundings with eyes that seemed to notice everything. She was dressed all in white, the only other colour on her gown being gold, and her fair hair, lighter than her brother's, reached her waist. For all her majestic appearance, there was coldness about her, as if she were the very Ice Queen from the stories Lothíriel's nurse had used to tell her when the princess had been a child.

Then the shadows behind the King's throne moved and a man stepped to the sight. He was an odd sight for a Rohir with his midnight black hair and sickly paleness, like he had been ill for a long time. He had pale, obtrusive eyes that seemed to be constantly moving and seeking for something. His long black robes, so different from the warrior's attires other men wore, only emphasised his pale features. Lothíriel instantly knew this must be Gríma Wormtongue – the man Éomer had spoken of with such venomous hatred. She could feel the tension emanating from the Marshal who stood beside her and she could only imagine how hard it was for him to frequently face this pale man who had in effect taken his uncle from him.

"My lord, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth has come with a request of help. Will you listen to her?" Éomer asked. His eyes were focused on the face of the King, his voice full of respect for this old man even despite of his obvious weakness. Éomer had sent word of her arrival the day after they had met in Aldburg, but a formal plea for Théoden King's protection still needed to be made. Knowing this, Lothíriel had come up with a small speech to ask for the King's good will, and now she quickly went through the words in her mind again.

"I will, Marshal", the King answered, but he sounded weary and somehow muffled.

Lothíriel dropped into a deep curtsy in the front of the monarch.

"Théoden King, I come riding from the shores of the sea, bringing greetings from the Steward of Gondor and to ask for your hospitality and protection. My father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, fears for my safety and pleads you to take me, his daughter, under your watchful guard. I bring twelve Knights with me, all honourable men and ready to follow your orders without hesitation. My lord, will you permit me to stay here among your people until my father determines it is safe for me to return?" she asked, trying to reach same depth of respect and humbleness that had seemed to come so easily from Éomer.

The King blinked his eyes and was silent for a moment. What if he'd tell her leave? The idea terrified her, but she tried not to show that. Silently, Gríma Wormtongue leant down to whisper something into the King's ear, his pale eyes fixed on Lothíriel.

"You are welcome in my house, child. I place you under my protection for as long as you are in the need of it, Princess Lothíriel", he finally said. Relief filled her and she curtsied again.

"Thousand thanks, my lord. You remain graceful and good as always", Lothíriel said, her voice weak with relief.

"Lady Éowyn will attend to your needs", the King said and sighed deeply, which the princess took as the sign to retreat now.

"My lord, may I have a word with you?" Éomer asked and stepped forward.

"Do you not see that the King is tired of all this ruckus? He will attend to your concerns later", Gríma spoke out loud for the first time. Lothíriel supposed his voice could be described as soft, almost velvety, but there was something about it she did not like. Quickly, she glanced at Éomer, whose face had become hard; although there was an icy glint in his eyes, he kept his silence. The princess shivered – was this the daily life of Edoras nowadays? If so, it was even worse than she had imagined.

Éowyn stepped down from the dais and nodded at the younger woman quietly. She walked so fast from the hall that Lothíriel could not hear what Éomer answered to the King's councilor. As Éomer had promised, two guards (one Swan Knight and one of Éomer's own men) darted after her immediately, along with the maidservant Naneth.

The King's niece did not utter a word until they came to the guest rooms and let Lothíriel and Naneth in before herself (the guards stayed behind, of course). Evidently a place to stay for her had already been prepared. Éowyn stepped into the room behind her and shut the door. It was a sunny chamber (much to Lothíriel's liking) with light-coloured furniture, green curtains and a beautifully embroidered duvet on the bed. There was also a large chest, adorned with skilful carvings, a stand for the washing basin, and a writing table with a chair in the room.

"Has my brother already told you the news of Meduseld?" the fair-haired woman asked bluntly as soon as she had sent Naneth to fetch Lothíriel's belongings.

"He has, my lady", the princess answered. "I did not know it was this bad."

"Then you realize you have to be careful here, Princess. Your... friendship with my brother is known of, so it would be wise for you to keep certain distance to him. For both of your and his sakes", Éowyn said, her voice not betraying any other emotion than vague politeness. Lothíriel's heart sank: she was nearer to him than she had been in ten years, and now she was supposed to stay away and avoid him? Before she could stop herself, she let out a heavy sigh. However, this made Éowyn's face soften a bit.

"I know it is hard for you. I understand you are rather fond of him and vice versa, but please understand this is for the good of you both. My uncle's adviser hates my brother with fiery passion – he is usually much better in hiding his resentment than Éomer is – and he does not carry the name Wormtongue for nothing. If he comes to think he could somehow use you against my brother, he will surely do it. Your royal status would not stop him if he had it in his mind to try and exploit your friendship. But if he believes you and my brother do not share any special bond, he will leave you alone... and my brother will be safe, as you will be too", the woman said. At the mention of the man who now effectively ruled Théoden King, Éowyn's bright grey eyes flashed with hatred.

"I understand", Lothíriel whispered. "Will you... will you at least tell him that I need to stay away from him? And that I'm sorry?"

"He knows it already. I have been telling him that for some time now", the older woman said and shook her head. "But I'll remind him again. My brother... he can be so stubborn sometimes."

The princess nodded at that, not knowing what to say.

"My uncle is old and he grows more weary every day. I never believed I would say this out loud, but perhaps his death is near and will bring some ease for this household. My cousin intends to exterminate the vermin in the Royal House the moment he becomes the King, and hopefully then all of us will be free once more", Éowyn said, her voice turning cool again.

Lothíriel could only nod at the bitter words.

* * *

It was the hardest thing – to enter the great hall for the dinner and try not to look at _him_. She could not help but steal one glance of him: he was sitting in the King's table, on the far left side. As if sensing her gaze, he suddenly lifted his face. He seemed expressionless, but a flash of his dark eyes told everything she needed to know.

For a second their eyes met, but then she turned away and went to sit by captain Aradhain and his men. The princess tried to occupy her mind with other matters and went on to ask if the Swan Knights were comfortably settled and whether they needed something. They had been given lodgings along with the other guards of the Golden Hall, and it appeared that they were already making friends with the Rohirric warriors.

"My lady, is something wrong? Have you been crying?" asked Aradhain, ever the watchful soldier.

"Oh, it is nothing, captain. I tripped in my room and hit myself on the bedpost", Lothíriel lied; it sounded false even in her own ears. The captain did not seem too convinced, but he was sensitive enough not to press her. He probably thought she was just homesick.

She did not have much of an appetite, and she excused herself as soon as Innas (who had the watch turn) had eaten. She wasn't particularly happy when she came across couple of girls she had befriended during her first stay in Edoras, but that was not because of the two young women – it was just her miserable state of mind that had robbed her of any interest towards socialising. Luckily she could plead to her long journey and exhaustion. The two women – named Erfréa and Móna – bid good night to her and she promised to get together with them next day.

Finally she was back in the safety of her own room. Lothíriel bolted the door behind her, as Innas had advised her to do, and changed quickly into her nightgown (she had already dismissed Naneth). Then, as she was going to bed, she remembered something.

Lothíriel went to her saddlebags, which lay unpacked on the floor and dug around for a while until she found what she had been seeking. She climbed to bed and curled up in a ball.

Her heart ached as she watched the small wooden horse on the pillow beside her.

_May it remind you of me in times to come._

_I will remember you always._

* * *

After a night spent in self-pity, Lothíriel decided to pull herself together and stop acting like a child who had not gotten her way. She should have known that this would not be some merry little holiday with Éomer and that he would probably have been away for most of the time anyway, even if Gríma Wormtongue had not been watching the Marshal. And hadn't Father always said that in the face of challenge and unhappiness a true son or daughter of Gondor held their head up high? Lothíriel remembered Éowyn's words and decided that she did not want to be responsible for Wormtongue hurting Éomer, or anyone else for that matter. His safety meant more than her silly wishes.

Obviously, if she just sat moping in her room, it would be harder. Sadness dwelt together with idleness, Master Berianir had once said. For that reason, she would have to come up with things to do and keep herself busy, so that she would not have time to think of him. That was how her father had gotten over losing her mother: keeping himself busy, not giving up to despair although that seemed appealing sometimes. Of course her situation was nothing like that, and she could grimly cling to Éowyn's dark words of how maybe the King's death would bring some sort of relief. That was not a happy or even a kind thing to think of, but somehow it helped her to deal with things.

So, that morning she got out of bed early, already planning things that she'd keep herself busy with during her stay in Edoras. She wrote couple of letters, one for her Father, one for her brothers and one for Aredhel – they'd want to know she was safely in Théoden King's house now. To Father, she explained how things currently were in the House of Eorl, though it made her wonder if the Prince, who could be so overprotective sometimes, would think she best come home from a place like this. But had he not said this was something of a diplomatic errand? Surely he'd agree that she couldn't just abandon the task when the situation turned out more complicated than expected. To her brothers and Aredhel she wrote more light-hearted letters, but to none of them did she mention what had happened in Aldburg.

After a quick wash and dressing up, Lothíriel took a deep breath and stepped out of her room. One of the Swan Knights, Gailion, was already standing by her door and looked like he had just been about to knock at her door.

"Good morning, Gailion", she greeted him and nodded to the man. He bowed and escorted her to the great hall, where people were already preparing for the day to come. She yearned to at least catch a glimpse of _him_, but perhaps it was good that she did not – as far as she could see, he was not in the great hall.

As soon as she had settled down, Erfréa and Móna came to sit with her and the four Swan Knights who were keeping her company. The two girls were couple of years younger than the princess but that did not prevent them from quickly renewing their old friendship. Erfréa was the daughter of Lord Erkenbrand of Westfold, and she was lively, joyful young woman. Her family resided in Helm's Deep but she had been living in Edoras for some time now (apparently, Hornburg was the most dismal place on Middle-earth and her father had only agreed to let her go so that she would stop complaining). Móna, on the other hand, was the daughter of Háma, who was the captain of the King's guard. Móna was as quiet as Erfréa was loud, and even though the two girls seemed to be very different from each other, they were the best friends. Móna had inherited her father's auburn hair and her mother's gentle, heart-shaped face. She wasn't exactly tall, and she was rather curvy than slender. Erfréa, on the other hand, was quite tall for a woman of Rohan and had the beautiful fair hair of her people. Her face was just as lively as her personality, and her hazel eyes sparkled like she were constantly thinking of some mischief (which she probably did).

As soon as the most pressing catching up was done, the princess decided she'd ask about the local House of Healing from the two girls, both of whom knew the capital of the Mark like their own pockets. With some questions, Lothíriel learned that the man in charge of the House of Healing in Edoras was a quiet, respected fellow who went by the name of Master Flód. He was known as a great healer, but he was also somewhat strict, and he did not take it well when his authority was questioned. Then again, according to Móna he was better liked than Master Ferdbrego of Aldburg.

"I have had some training in healing back in my home city. Do you think Master Flód would accept my help?" Lothíriel asked her two new friends. She did not tell just how much it meant to her that he allow her to work at the House of Healing. Lothíriel desperately needed something to do, and working with the healers had always given her some sense of calm and peace.

"Well, I don't know. He's such a silent, reserved man – you never know what he is thinking. You will have to ask him yourself", Erfréa said. Then she flashed a grin. "My father wanted me to learn the ways of the healers. I was such a poor student that Master Flód actually got mad and shouted at me! Once you see him, you won't believe that he's actually capable of such loud voices. Anyway, what about you? When did you become a healer?"

"My father sent me to study under Master Berianir when I was around eight. He thought I needed to learn to be useful in case of... well, you know in case of what. The war", Lothíriel said quietly, and all three young women fell silent. But then Erfréa, ever the cheerful one, started telling her a silly story of how she had given the wrong herb mixture to Gríma Wormtongue, causing the man to have severe case of flatulence for the rest of the day. That was not the time Master Flód had dismissed her, even though Erfréa had received grave scoldings from the master healer. She was grinning like a maniac when she told how Master Flód had been trying to hold his smile while reproving her.

"And that is pretty much the only time I've ever seen the man smile", she ended her story.

"I assume Wormtongue was not very happy with you", Lothíriel snorted.

"He was not! Ever since, he has been giving me these deathly glares whenever he comes across me. Luckily he wasn't so powerful back then and Master Flód was able to convince him that I was not trying to poison him, so I wasn't fed to wargs or anything like that... To be frank, I don't think anyone would have been unhappy had I actually poisoned the man."

After the breakfast, the three girls and Lothíriel's guards went outside. It was beautiful, sunny day, but not exactly warm because of the ever-present wind rushing over the plains. Erfréa and Móna led Lothíriel to the House of Healing that was just on the other side of courtyard (Erfréa stayed behind with Lothíriel's guards - according to her, it might not give a good impression if Master Flód saw the princess with her).

Master Flód was an elderly man, with streaks of silver in his reddish gold hair and beard. His face was lined but it had strength and determination about it, shining even through his silence and solemnity. He listened mutely as Lothíriel explained what she had in mind, his face not giving away what he thought of her request to have an opportunity to work in the House of Healing. And when the princess had finished her explanation and curtsied, the healer turned on his heels and went to the other room without a word. Lothíriel glanced at Móna, but the younger woman looked just as confused as the princess was.

They did not have to wonder long, for the healer came back then with a small open box with several vials.

"Tell me what these are and what they are used for", the healer requested, positioning the box on the front of Lothíriel. She almost lost her courage then – she would never solve this kind of puzzle – but then she remembered Master Berianir's calming voice and advice. She could do this.

With no hurry, she started to open the small vials. She smelled the contents carefully, and when she was not sure, she dipped a tiny drop on her little finger, tasting the liquid. When she had figured what the medicine probably was, she told her guess to the old master.

"This", she began with the largest vial, "is for pain. My master used similar compound to treat to my father's occasional headaches, but I'd say this can be used to ease other hurts too."

She continued with one vial at time, explaining what she believed it to contain, and for what it would be best used. Master Flód listened silently at her, never interrupting. Finally, when she put the last vial down, the man nodded.

"Well done, Princess. You were wrong only about this one", the healer said and pointed at one of the vials. "It is mere cough syrup. Still, you seem to have a gift for healing. You may start immediately. I have some herbs for you to attend to."

Lothíriel curtsied and looked at the man in deep gratefulness.

"Thank you, Master, for giving me this chance", she thanked. He harrumphed vaguely and took the vials with him.

"Well, I'll see you at the dinner then!" Móna said and smiled. "Good luck, Princess!"

Master Flód kept Lothíriel busy with preparing herbs for preserving and seasoning, and before she knew, it was already dinner time. The old healer patted her on the shoulder and urged her to go and dine with her friends, thus exposing that there was a kind, gentle man behind the serious and authoritative countenance. The princess bid him good night and promised to come again next day.

When she was walking through the great hall with her guards, Lothíriel noticed there was an argument going on by the King's throne. Lord Éomer was there, speaking in quick, heated Rohirric to his uncle, with some of his men behind him. King Théoden hardly took part in the argument – it was Gríma Wormtongue who answered for (or instead of) the King.

"What are they arguing about?" Lothíriel asked from the maid who was mopping the floor (or pretending to mop while observing the scene by the throne).

"Lord Éomer has asked for the permission to evacuate Eastemnet. He says it is too dangerous to have people live there anymore, what with the marauding orcs attacking the defenceless peasants so often these days. Wormtongue won't allow him to do that", the maid answered quietly, not even trying to pretend she didn't know who was using the King's authority here.

The argument ended abruptly, as Éomer barked something angrily, turned around and strode towards the entrance of the hall. His face was dark and furious, but Lothíriel thought she saw a hint of anguish there, too. She wanted to run to him and somehow help him, but of course that was just silly. What help could she, a mere guest in this house, give to him? This battle was between Éomer and Wormtongue alone.

* * *

On the third day of her stay in Edoras, Master Flód cast a suspicious look at her and ordered her go out. Apparently she looked pale and sickly to him and he decided she needed some sun (she did not bother telling him it was the monthly nuisance that women suffered from, but perhaps he already knew that). Lothíriel had not seen her horse ever since coming here, and even though she knew it would receive all the best attention, she decided to go and see how the animal fared. Innas, who was guarding her again that day, went to look at his own horse while Lothíriel checked her mare. It was a beautiful horse with chestnut coat and mane. It was actually a Rohirric horse – her father had bought several from the horselords some years ago – and she had heard this mount had been hand-picked just for her.

The princess was in the middle of minding her horse when Lord Éomer suddenly came to the stables. Innas, alerted by noise from the doors, came to check on her and then bowed to the Marshal.

For a moment, the Princess and the Marshal's eyes met. She had not even seen him after his confrontation with the King (or rather the King's councillor), and there was hardness in his dark eyes that immediately softened at the sight of her.

"My lord", she greeted with a curtsy. He nodded to her and then glanced quickly at Innas.

"Mind giving us a moment?" asked the Marshal.

"As you wish, Lord Éomer", Innas answered and hurried outside. Only then Lothíriel realized that Éomer was in full armour, complete with red-brown plates on his chest and arms and carrying his horsetail helmet.

"Are you leaving, my lord?" she asked, her heart sinking at the mere thought, even if she had known he'd have to go sooner or later.

"I fear I must. _The King _has ordered me to return my post", he answered and grimaced. It wasn't so hard to guess whose order that was in truth.

"Will you be gone for long?" the princess asked quietly. He sighed then and reached his hand towards her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. The gesture was somehow absent-minded, as if he didn't think anything of such a familiar touch... but then, she thought nothing of it either.

"It seems so. I do not know when I can be back, my lady", he said and a regretful look briefly appeared on his face.

"Be careful", Lothíriel pleaded, trying to keep her voice strong and steady.

"I will be, as always. You remember what I said before? That I am in your service at all times if you need me?" he questioned, and now there was concern in his dark eyes.

"Of course. I will remember that. And I promise to be careful", Lothíriel answered and showed the blade he had given to her, hanging from her waist. She always wore it under her cape so that the weapon stayed hidden. Even in Edoras, she wasn't so sure if an armed woman was something people wanted to see.

"I wish you will not have to use that", he sighed. "But if such a situation should come, may your hand be swift and precise."

His horse, already saddled and ready for the departure, was neighing anxiously. Lord Éomer did not seem to even notice that, as he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. His beard tickled her skin and her heart fluttered, and suddenly she wanted to jump at him, embrace him with all her strength and beg him to stay or take her with him... But of course she would not do such thing. She would have to let him go.

"Stay safe, my lady", he said softly. Then he took his horse by its reins, mounted on it and rode out. As Lothíriel watched him go, the realisation finally hit her.

She loved Éomer, son of Éomund, more than she had ever loved anyone else.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! Sorry for the delay - I've been having some problems with my laptop, but I'll try to get to frequent updates asap.

I know how Lothíriel's moping might seem, but remember that she's a young woman faraway from her home, and though she has familiar faces about her, this is still a time of uncertainty for her - especially since the one person she trusts with her life is someone she's supposed to be avoiding. And after all, no one is without their flaws.

Also, thank you for all your comments and compliments! It really warms my heart to know that my story is enjoyed and liked. :)

As for the questions on "the watcher", I fear I cannot answer those. You will just have to wait and see.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Lothíriel's life in Edoras fell quickly into a routine. Every morning, she would check whether Master Flód needed her help. Sometimes he had her occupied couple of hours or even all the day, sometimes he would send her on her way. Luckily Lothíriel soon came up with things to do on those times when she was not needed in the House of Healing.

Firstly, she continued training marksmanship to keep up her skills. And when the nightmares came, usually with either Wormtongue or Lord Denethor to chase her after revealing themselves to be orcs in disguise rather than men, marksmanship was a good way to let out the frustration and the feeling of being helpless. She also was somewhat pleased to see that she was not the only woman on training grounds – Éowyn too came there to practice with the younger soldiers. She appeared to be a very good at swordplay, and her speed and agility often prevailed the strength and size of her opponents. The King's niece, ever the one with keen eyes, also noticed Lothíriel carrying a blade under her cape and actually taught the princess some useful moves. The princess was thankful and not only because Éowyn never questioned her decision to stay armed.

Secondly, she got Erfréa and Móna to help with her Rohirric. They had numerous language lessons over needlework or when they had a stroll through the town, and Lothíriel was pleased and somewhat proud when her grasp on the horselords' language began to improve. Also, her earlier lessons with Éomer (so long ago now, it seemed) began to return as she got back to using Rohirric daily. Erfréa would often practically force Lothíriel to use just Rohirric – the younger woman would not answer to her in Westron or pretended not to hear her if she didn't speak Rohirric.

Thirdly, Lothíriel started to sew a new gown for herself with the help of her two friends. She had not been able to pack too many pieces of clothing with her, so she did not really have a warm enough gown for the colder winter months that were now quickly approaching. When she had packed clothing for her journey, she hadn't taken the ever-present wind to the account. The work was naturally quite slow, as they had to negotiate a lot (she wanted a gown that had both Gondor and Rohan in it) how to proceed. They used dark red cloth – green wasn't her colour, Móna decided – and spent hours after hours over their work.

Fourthly, sometimes Lothíriel just stayed in her room with her book. She would sit by the window, often forgetting what she was actually doing and quietly stared off to the horizon. Still, even with her slow pace, one could not entertain oneself forever with only one book. Luckily she got the permission to use the King's library which was surprisingly well-equipped for the king of a people whose main way for preserving memory was by songs and oral stories rather than by writing. Apparently Théoden had been quite the reader on his earlier years – a trait inherited from Morwen Steelsheen, who had brought many books and scrolls with her when her husband had become the King of the Mark.

All the same the princess found herself pleasantly occupied, but that did not exactly prevent her from thinking about him.

Now that she had realized her feelings for the Third Marshal, he seemed to be there in her mind all the time. She would dream of him and think of him the first thing on the morning. She was constantly wondering what he would say about this or that matter and what he was doing at the moment. When she walked on the corridors of Edoras, she imagined him there beside her, or just pictured him strolling through the rooms and hall while he conversed with his sister or perhaps Éothain. She pictured him on one of his patrols and hoped that no harm would come to him. He was in her mind when she lay herself down to sleep, until the circle was full and began anew on the next morning. Mostly she had her mind in control, but sometimes thinking of him took her far away, so that she had trouble focusing on what she was doing.

It was not really a good thing to daydream in such manner and lose her concentration when her attacker was still roaming free. But as there had been no sign or sound of him, Lothíriel could not help but loosen up a bit. Perhaps the man had stayed in Aldburg and she was safe here. And after all, it would require some serious impudence to attempt anything under the roof of the King's household.

She contemplated whether she should talk with Éowyn about her feelings towards Éomer. But of what use was it, anyway? Perhaps he didn't return her love. She was sure she'd never be able to actually be with him, even if he felt about her like she felt about him. First of all, her uncle (who as the Steward of Gondor had to approve of the marriages of every member of the royal family) would never let her marry her beloved horselord. In her uncle's eyes, the status of the Third Marshal was not a very impressive one; giving her hand in a marriage to the King's nephew would not be much of a benefit for Gondor, even if Éomer could claim to royal blood and was second in the succession to the throne. She could not exactly escape with him, either. His sense of duty was strong and he would never abandon his people, nor could she ever bring herself to force him into making that decision. Where could the two of them live, anyway? Would it even possible to live peacefully in this world, if the war actually broke out?

It was a tangle of uncertainties, unlikely to ever be undone. Why must love force its way into such a place where it had no chance of flourishing?

Éomer did not visit Edoras very often, but when he did, every glimpse of him sent a pang through her. Her heart would start aching at the very sight of him, and she felt the painful need to go to him, embrace him, tell how much she cared... But every time she forced herself to think of what Éowyn had said.

Still, the time went by. Time did not care how the mortals were longing and struggling and how their hearts were about to break. And as Master Berianir could have told her any time, having things to do and being occupied did help.

* * *

The Golden Hall was quiet and dark as Gríma, son of Gálmód, made his way from the kitchens of the King's house towards his own chambers. A flask of fine Gondorian wine – a delicacy these barbarians he did not seem to understand – already burned his hands. Most people were already asleep and he only passed by two night guards as he walked.

One could have imagined that the darkness was not safe for him. After all, Théoden's people had little love for the King's councillor. Gríma had no illusions about the members of the Royal household: many of them would no doubt have assaulted him in the darkness if they knew of how he was walking here alone... and he doubted it would have stopped them that this was the King's house and that a deed of blood would have been a serious offence of the King's peace. But Gríma was not afraid of the dark. He was prepared and he was rather good at preserving his life. His hand was as fast as any Rohir's, his small elaborately decoratd dagger was sharp, and his eyes were alert always.

He considered his skills of survival very good, but in the end, the attack still came as a surpise.

The corridor was dark and so he saw and knew nothing before suddenly, a large hand grabbed him from behind and there was a flash of steel: a deadly edge of a dagger pressed against his windpipe.

"Be quiet. If you as much as squeal, I will slit your throat", came a low, raspy voice. He spoke in heavily accented Westron that Gríma couldn't quite place. He considered his ability to recognize voices very good, but this throaty, growling sound was unknown to him. Still, he wondered: if the stranger's intention was to kill him, he'd be dead already. So he remained calm and decided to play time. Night guards were due to walk this way sooner or later.

"What do you want?" he asked finally when he was convinced that he might not be murdered where he stood.

"I've come to deliver you my express warning", the low voice growled and momentarily the blade was pressed tighter against Gríma's neck, almost to the point of drawing blood.

"What is it? Gold? Women?" Gríma asked. That was what men usually wanted, wasn't it? Especially those who sneaked about in the darkness and attacked people from behind.

"No", the voice snarled. If Gríma was a judge of character at all, it seemed that the very idea offended the man.

"Then what?" he asked and tried to keep his breathing even.

"You should know that if you are very fond of your life, you will stay away from Princess Lothíriel. If anything happens to her here in the Mark, I will hold you responsible. If you as much look at her in a way that puts me off, I will bury this knife into your heart. Oh, shake all you want. Order guards to stand around you all times. You may do what you can to protect yourself and hide yourself inside a mountain of steel, but if the Princess is harmed, I will find you, and I will kill you. There is no cave deep enough, no castle impenetrable that will keep me from finding you", the stranger rasped, his voice full of murderous anger.

"My my. The Princess has grown bold. Did the Gondorian brat put you on this herself?" Gríma asked. The blade dug just slightly into his flesh and he could feel blood running down his neck.

"Don't be ridiculous. She's too sheltered and docile to even think of associating with people such as myself. She'd be ashamed to think of sending a hired blade after you, if such an uncharacteristic idea should enter her mind. I act on my own incentive... and nothing would please me as much as skinning you alive right here and now", the stranger rasped, and Gríma could practically feel the fiend's lust for blood.

"Then why don't you kill me?" he dared to ask. It was, after all, a very good question. However, it made the stranger laugh, and the sound was rough and gruff.

"You have your uses, Gríma Wormtongue. But have no doubt. I will watch you most vigilantly... and I will keep my steel sharp for you. This is the only warning you will have, so you better watch yourself very carefully", the stranger growled. Then he drove the hilt of his dagger to the back of Gríma's head, and the King's councillor saw stars as he fell down.

When he came back to his senses, the corridor was empty and the strange raspy-voiced man was already gone.

* * *

It seemed to Lothíriel that she had only just arrived Edoras when suddenly December arrived and the plains around the King's town received a heavy snowstorm.

Lothíriel had never seen snow, so when she woke up on the morning and saw the brightness outside, she ran to the window and almost squealed at the sight of beautiful whiteness covering the plains. For a moment she wished she could join the children who were already running and playing in the snow, that she could share that light carefreeness. What a sight would it have been – the well-bred Gondorian princess rushing about in the snow like a small girl!

Even then, or perhaps because of it, she was delighted when Éowyn came to ask her whether Lothíriel wanted to go riding this morning.

"My brother tells me it never snows in Dol Amroth. Perhaps you would like to come for a ride with me and get a better look?" the older woman offered. The princess did not tell how surprised she was that Éomer had remembered that particular thing.

"I'd love to join you, Éowyn!" she answered and felt light, lighter than she really had ever since her arrival to Edoras.

Éowyn had been distant and cool with her in the beginning of her stay, but their friendship had gradually started to re-flourish as they often happened to visit the training grounds at the same time. The blonde woman had even asked Lothíriel to call her by her name, and vice versa. The princess soon started to feel a strange sort of kinship with the King's niece. She was not sure why, but perhaps it had something to do with the way they both seemed to be longing after things out of their reaches. Éowyn remained always a bit restrained, but as the time went by, she did share more of her thoughts with Lothíriel and seemed to be rather happy about the fact that the princess was currently living in the capital of Rohan.

After dressing warmly the small group rode down the hill and to the plains. Erfréa and Móna had joined the two older women, and even though they had seen snow many times in their childhoods, they seemed to almost as excited about it as Lothíriel. Also, Naneth and some of the Swan Knights came along too with several guards of the King's House. To her maidservant and the Knights of Dol Amroth, snow was as much a wonder as it was for the princess.

Erfréa and Móna soon engaged in a race with one of the younger guards, leaving Lothíriel and Éowyn to ride alone. The King's niece glanced at the princess.

"Do the people of Gondor celebrate Yuletide?" she asked.

"Oh, we do. Lord Denethor used to throw big banquets – they were quite a hit, in fact – but it has been a while since he threw one. Most families celebrate Yule peacefully together, with big dinners and giving presents to each other", Lothíriel answered.

"The Rohirrim have special love for Yuletide. For two days, the entire realm seems to stop to just relax and rest. My uncle also throws banquets here in Edoras, complete with dinner, singing and dancing. Bonfires are burnt to honour the sun and the coming of new year", Éowyn explained. Then, after a short silence, she started again: "My brother will come to visit Edoras, of course."

"He will?" Lothíriel asked, delight instantly colouring her voice. She sat a bit straighter in her saddle and could not help but grin.

"He would not have it in any other way, Lothíriel", Éowyn said and a slight smile appeared on her face. "I hope you'll remember to remain careful, even if it is the celebration of love and light."

Well, that did it. The King's niece couldn't have been more apparent that she knew exactly what was going on in the princess' mind... either she was very observant or Lothíriel was particularly obvious. Hopefully it wasn't the latter, at least.

"Éowyn... there is something I'd like to tell", the princess said. She knew she could trust Éowyn. The King's niece of all people ought to understand her. And after all, it was about her brother, and there was no way in the world Éowyn could want anything else than the happiness of Éomer.

"What is it?" the other woman asked, though her expression implied that she already knew. Lothíriel glanced quickly around to make sure no one was listening.

"I am... I am in love with your brother. Very deeply so", she confessed and felt warmth on her cheeks. Her friend could very well know that already, but actually admitting it out loud still made her blush.

"I must say I am not very surprised. I suspected as much", Éowyn said quietly and reached to pat her arm.

"Do you know how he feels about me? Has he said anything?" Lothíriel asked restlessly. It felt somehow relieving to have the truth said aloud, especially to Éowyn, whose opinion meant so much to her.

"My brother hasn't said anything on that matter, but I know he loves you. He absolutely adores you – he always has. I know him well enough to see what is going on in his mind. For a long time, you have been one of the few things to make him smile", the older woman said and something like a fond smile appeared on her face.

A lump formed in Lothíriel's throat and she felt like crying just for the sheer strength of her emotion, but fought to keep herself calm. Éomer loved her! Of course she should have seen it long ago – now that she had his sister's confirmation, it seemed so obvious. The way he had always been so worried for her safety, how his face and eyes would turn so soft and warm when he looked at her, how he had run to her that night in Aldburg and taken her in his arms...

"He asks of you a lot. Of course he does not address to the matter directly, but use some euphemism should his letters fall in wrong hands. Ever since our parents died, he has been such an angry and irate man, rarely giving into smiles or laughter. But when he sees you, or receives a simple letter from you... it is as if he turns into another man. He begins to smile and there is this light in his eyes. When he is like that, he reminds me very much of the way our father used to be around our mother", Éowyn said and then shook her head. Lothíriel's heart raced, and had he been there with her now, she'd probably have leaped into his embrace and kissed him breathless, and she wouldn't have cared even if all of the world's Gríma Wormtongues had been watching.

"Do you see hope for... us? To be together?" she asked tentatively.

"Not as long as my uncle lives and stays in the web Wormtongue has wrapped him in. Éomer is of royal blood, and as the second in succession to the throne, his marriage has to be approved by the King. I don't see that happening any time soon, Lothíriel. Wormtongue would like nothing better than to forbid my brother to marry – especially if he knew just how much Éomer adores you", Éowyn answered gravely.

"And my uncle would probably agree with him", the princess sighed. "He thinks I need to marry someone who can be of use to Gondor, and I fear Éomer won't meet that standard."

"That is the lot of women and the daughters of the kings. Our place is not to follow our personal wishes or our love, but to surrender them and fulfill our duties", Éowyn said, her voice suddenly harsh and bitter. And sad thing was, there was nothing Lothíriel could say against that.

Fortunately Erfréa and Móna rode back that moment, which effectively ended the depressing conversation.

"You two seem like someone died. What on earth have you talking about?" Móna asked and searched Lothíriel's eyes.

"Nothing of importance", Éowyn declared; her voice was cool and bland and her eyes hard. Then she straightened in her saddle. "We should turn back. I need to attend to my uncle."

* * *

Preparations for Yule celebrations were soon begun. The servants cleaned the King's house from the lowest cellar to the very ceiling, it seemed, and the fresh scent filled every corner. The King's household was suddenly full of life and bustling, casting a stark contrast to the usual grim atmosphere.

Erfréa and Móna taught Lothíriel to bind a Yule wreath, which symbolized the circle of the year – they were used to decorate the King's house, and their pleasant scent added to the atmosphere of joy. Wreaths were made from the sprigs of evergreen trees and then decorated with all kinds of things, like dried flowers and herbs (sometimes with Simbelmynë flowers, if a family member had died during the year), colourful ribbons, holly and so on. Making a wreath was not as easy as one might have expected, and Lothíriel's own paled in comparison to the ones her friends and Naneth made. The girls were polite enough to praise her, though.

Then there was the case of presents to be given. In Gondor, presents were mostly exchanged between close family, but in Rohan the custom was that close friends were considered also. For Erfréa and Móna she found beautiful lockets from the market, but Éowyn and Éomer were not so easy as to what to give to them. For Éowyn, she ended up sewing a green purse and embroidering it with the symbol of sun (luckily, she was much better at that now), though she wondered if Éowyn would have preferred something like a sword. As for Éomer, she wanted to give something special. So she did a little digging in her bag and finally found the item: the ring her maternal grandfather had owned.

She had only met her mother's father once when she had been about seven. Of his appearance she remembered only his face, full of lines and sadness. He had lost both his wife and his only daughter in very short time, and it was said he never really recovered from the pain of his loss. But on that one time, the elderly man had taken her on his knee and told how much she reminded him of dear Celairiel, her mother. Then he had taken a ring – silver garland-like band with beautiful, shining sapphire on it – from his finger and placed it in Lothíriel's hands, speaking no more.

She had kept the ring with her other trinkets in a small, embroidered purse and had not even remembered that it was there when she had been packing. She had once thought about giving the ring to her husband (once he came along, that was), but now she realized she would rather give it to the man she truly loved. Éomer was that man, and even if their lives were not meant to be lived together, at least he would carry with him something from her. Maybe, if he married some day, he could give it to one of his own children.

True to her habits, she would still gaze at the horizon, hoping to see him riding towards Edoras. Of course she knew he would not arrive until the day before Yule, but she could not help herself. She knew something had to happen during his stay, for she was going to tell him how she felt about him. What would happen then, she did not know. She knew he shared her feelings, but that might not mean anything special. After all, there was no way for them to be together.

It was strange to think she would not be with her family this Yule. Couple of letters had come from her father and Aredhel: according to them, all was well in Dol Amroth. Elphir had recovered from his wounds as if he had never even been on sickbed. Aredhel, on the other hand, had given birth to a healthy baby boy, who had been named Alphros. Lothíriel could only imagine her father's quiet pride, Elphir's joy, and Aredhel's relief for a successful childbirth. The thought of her family was sometimes as painful as her longing for the certain Marshal, although the feelings were not the same. She missed them more than she could ever tell her friends here in Edoras.

Then the day before Yule came and Third Marshal's group rode up to Meduseld. Lothíriel was at the House of Healing that time and she watched from the window as Éomer and his warriors arrived. He glanced around quickly, as if looking for something, and then dismounted. For a moment she saw his face and her heart turned into a painful, icy fist rather hitting her chest than beating inside it. He looked grim and snapped something to one of the stable-boys so that young man flinched and hurried away with the equally foul-tempered Firefoot. The princess wrapped her arms around herself and let out a heavy sigh. No doubt she looked rather miserable when she thought how the dark expression on the Marshal's face wasn't hers to ease and turn into a smile.

"What is it, Princess?" Master Flód asked and came up to peer out, only to see Éomer leaping up the stone steps. He shot a glance at Lothíriel, but as always, his face did not betray him. If he guessed what was going on in her mind, which wasn't so unlikely, he didn't say anything about it.

"Is everything all right?" the healer asked quietly, studying her with those green eyes of his that Lothíriel thought were able to see even through stone.

"Yes, master", she answered and was very much thankful for the young mother who chose that moment to enter with her child who had caught nasty case of cold. She wanted to punch herself in the face for being so obvious.

After master Flód had sent her away that evening, Lothíriel climbed up to the terrace, her mind running quickly. When should she approach him? Somehow, she felt that the moment would have to be absolutely right. And a moment like that would not obviously come any time soon, Lothíriel realized as she entered the Great Hall: Éomer was once again arguing with Gríma Wormtongue by the dais. The Marshal was requesting more men to help him defend Eastfold, but as could be expected, no such thing was granted. She wished she could somehow show her support and tell him not to give up fighting. Then again, it was Éomer after all. He did not need to be told to persist, for it was his nature to fight until the very end.

The question she asked herself was, would he be willing to fight for her, too?

* * *

**A/N:** The idea of Simbelmynë used in wreaths in case a family member has died is my own, as are the other descriptions of celebrations of Yuletide. In the next chapter, we'll see the actual Yule celebrations.

The bit about Gríma's encounter with the strange man is something that was not in the original version of the story, and as you're all very clever people, you will probably make your own deductions about that. It is truly one complicated tangle Lothíriel has gotten herself into, but at least she's not alone. I must say, I really like writing her with Erfréa and Móna, who of course are my own characters. I have not found any references to children by Erkenbrand and Háma, but I'd think they would have some, even if they're not mentioned in the original story by Tolkien. Master Flód is also my own and I'm actually rather fond of him. :D

Also, I thank you all for your continued support and all reviews!


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Yule morning greeted Lothíriel with bright sunlight. She stretched on her bed and immediately thought of Éomer. Last night, they had briefly encountered each other when she had been making her way to the great hall. He had nodded politely at her and she had returned the gesture, but nothing more had transpired between them. Maybe this day she would have the chance to actually talk with him in private?

When Naneth arrived, the princess dressed in her warm winter gown and heavy boots. Her maid wore similar gear, as most of the morning would be spent outside, enjoying the beautiful winter day. The horsemen would perform all kinds of wonderful feats of skill and bravery, there would be a bonfire that would burn through all the day and night, and the men of the Royal household would go for a Yule hunt in the forests. Songs would be sung and neighbours visited each other to bid prosperity and luck, and for a moment, fears and worries would be gone.

Éowyn was busy with making sure that everything ran smoothly, so Lothíriel spent most of the morning with Erfréa and Móna. After breakfast, they exchanged the gifts; Éowyn gave Lothíriel a new quiver for her arrows, and from Erfréa and Móna she received a beautifully made bracelet and some fabrics for a new gown. Soon after they went out for a stroll and even visited Master Flód to wish a merry Yule to him. The healer was somewhat surprised (and shot a meaningful glance towards Erfréa, who was grinning unashamedly) but Lothíriel was fairly sure she also saw some delight in his eyes because of this courtesy. Then they carried on all the way to the plains outside the front gate. Many families had gathered there already to see how the master horsemen made their horses do all kinds of fantastic tricks that were considered impressive even in the land of the horselords. Éomer was there, too, and Firefoot danced under him as if the animal were purposefully trying to catch attention – which the man and his mount definitely did do.

The girls wanted to go out riding and escort the hunting party to the edge of forest, which sounded like a good idea. He was there, of course, riding with the Crown Prince who led the party as his father was in no condition for riding or hunting, but his gaze met Lothíriel's only momentarily. Even then, that one look was like a sweet breeze of summer and a dagger through one's heart at the same time. Now that she was aware of his feelings for her, she instantly recognized the expression in his eyes and knew it must be mirrored in her own.

When the hunters had disappeared into the forest, the three girls and the four Swan Knights with them turned back to Edoras. Erfréa was already excited about the nearing evening and she babbled endlessly of the preparations she needed to make before the celebrations. Her good mood cheered up even Lothíriel and she could not help but share the other girl's enthusiasm (although she imagined hers was for an entirely different reason).

"Well, Móna, wasn't the prince very handsome?" Erfréa asked when they were halfway back to Edoras. The other girl blushed furiously.

"Erfréa! Stop it!" she scolded and looked away.

"Our Móna here has had a crush on Prince Théodred ever since she was 12. To be honest, I think he is rather fond of her, too", Erfréa said, obviously enjoying herself.

"Do not tease her, Erfréa. I know there must be some young warrior you are completely in love with, too", Lothíriel put in.

"Oh, Erfréa has had more sweethearts than I care to count. But I fear she hasn't yet found her match. And even if she had, the poor lad would still have to get her father's permission", Móna answered, grateful for Lothíriel stepping in. The princess could imagine what kind of bravery it requested for any young man to face Lord Erkenbrand; Erfréa had introduced her to the man earlier that day, and the one of the few men to match Erkenbrand in size and authority was Éomer himself.

"What about you, Lothig? Is there some handsome lord waiting for you back in Dol Amroth?" Erfréa asked and looked curiously at the princess. Lothíriel lowered her eyes.

"There is someone. I don't think I will ever be with him, though", she said quietly, not able to stop sorrow from entering her voice.

"Who could possibly be so inaccessible that there's no way you could be with him?" Erfréa inquired.

"Shut up, Erfréa. Don't you see she doesn't want to talk about it?" Móna said, her voice uncommonly strict. "This isn't a fairy tale and you're not Feorh on a quest to reunite the forbidden lovers Godan and Holen."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to bring up any unhappy memories", the taller girl hurried to say. Lothíriel tried to smile a bit, but her expression probably ended up looking more like a grimace.

"It's nothing, my friend. I'll... I'll just have to deal with it", she said quietly and shook her head. Erfréa did not know what to say, but Móna, ever the sensitive heart, placed her hand on Lothíriel's arm for a moment.

Soon the blonde girl started to joke about something again, obviously to cheer up the others a bit, and Lothíriel let the other girl's happiness carry herself away from her moment of heaviness, too. There would be plenty of time to think of _him_ later.

The group of hunters returned with plenty of game and a festive mood. It was already afternoon, and the sun would soon start setting. When the sun would touch the horizon, it was the time to start the celebration.

The ladies of the King's house spent a good deal of the afternoon in the process of preparing themselves for the festivities. For the first time, Lothíriel was glad she had actually taken one of her better gowns with her. The damned thing had taken a lot of space, but at least it finally came to serve its purpose. It was the traditional blue of her home, ornamented with silver embroideries on the neckline and wide sleeves that were of thinner fabric than the rest of the gown. At first, she had thought she'd have preferred something red perhaps, so that she wouldn't stand out too much, but then again she couldn't help hoping she might impress _him_ if she looked her very best tonight. And if everything went like she wished... well, tonight was important. She could already feel it.

Naneth had just been adding finishing touches to Lothíriel's hair when someone knocked the door. She could hear Erfréa's delighted giggles, which made her smile, too.

"Come in!" she called and the two girls rushed in. Erfréa was a vision in her red dress, of course; Lord Erkenbrand would have to watch his daughter well this night. Móna, on the other hand, had chosen a more traditional forest green that elegantly emphasized her curvy figure. If Erfréa was right about Théodred being equally fond of the young woman, the Prince wouldn't probably be able to have his eyes off her entire night.

"Lothig! Let's exchange bodies!" Erfréa squealed and shook the princess' hand with enthusiasm one could almost have called violent. "Oh dear Valar, why couldn't I have hair like that?"

"Nonsense, Erfréa. With you and Móna present, the men won't know which one to stare", she said, smiling.

"So they'll settle on you, naturally!" Móna joked. Lothíriel rolled her eyes, but could not help but laugh a bit at their silly joking. Her heart was lighter than in months.

The Golden Hall was lit with hundreds of candles and torches. A warm atmosphere had for once replaced the usual gloom, and already people were laughing and enjoying themselves. It was impossible to feel the sorrows on a night like this and Lothíriel decided that at least for today she'd try to forget about everything else.

She and friends found their places with Naneth, captain Aradhain and his men. Her maid and the Swan Knights were Lothíriel's only connection to home this night, so it felt only proper to share the feast with them. The younger knights seemed slightly bewildered by the ladies' company, all dressed in their best. Erfréa was already flirting with Innas, and the princess hoped she wouldn't completely mess his head.

The King had not yet entered the hall – it was him people were waiting for now. His announcement would start the festivities and people were waiting anxiously now. According to Erfréa, Wormtongue was probably holding the elderly king in the royal chambers, intentionally making the people wait.

"Oh, stop it. Even he can't be that petty", Móna argued and the two girls began to banter whether he could.

Involuntarily and instinctively, Lothíriel sought the Marshal with her gaze until she spotted him standing by the King's table. He was dressed in dark green tunic, embroidered with golden sun and leaves by the neckline. She could feel her heart fluttering at the sight of him, and suddenly he lifted his face and met her gaze. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at her, his eyes burning her until he quickly turned his face away. Lothíriel did the same and tried to concentrate on Erfréa's endless flood of talk, but it was hard to make any sense of that.

"Your Godan is very handsome tonight, my friend", Móna whispered suddenly. The princess gasped and looked at the younger woman, startled. The captain's daughter smiled gently. "Do not worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, Móna", Lothíriel answered silently, hoping she could somehow have told her friend how much she appreciated the younger woman's discretion. Then again, Móna probably knew.

Soon after, the King entered the hall with Éowyn on his one side and Wormtongue the other. Lothíriel was not sure whether she had just imagined it, but to her it seemed like the King's health had been failing past weeks, and sometimes it seemed he did not exactly know where he was anymore. There were moments he didn't seem to recognize the people around him – not even Éomer. The princess could only imagine how that must have hurt the King's sister-children.

With a trembling hand, the King lifted his horn of ale and the people in the hall followed his example. His voice weary as he spoke, the monarch declared the nearing of the new year and bid prosperity to his subjects. Then the people hailed the King and drank heartily from their cups and drinking horns. The feast began and brimfuls of steaming food were brought to tables. The kitchens of Meduseld had truly done their best, and more – the food was so delicious Lothíriel almost ate too much.

Erfréa was, of course, the centre of their table. The mead she had drunk as the opening toast had not only brought a flush to her cheeks but also made her even more lively than usual. The men at the table seemed to be very much enthralled with the bold girl; she was nothing like the Gondorian ladies who, even though they were well-trained in the art of flirt, were nothing like this vibrant girl. Poor Innas especially seemed to be completely overwhelmed by the fair girl but Naneth looked mostly scandalized, so she sought the company of Gailion, who was more reserved and didn't seem too taken with Erkenbrand's daughter. While Erfréa was occupied by the Swan Knights, Lothíriel and Móna had a conversation of their own.

"When did it happen? When did you fall in love with him?" Móna asked quietly.

"I do not know for sure. I think I've always loved him, in a way. It was only when I returned here that I begun to realize how deep my feelings for him actually run", the princess answered, watching the Marshal from the corner of her eye.

"I remember how inseparable the two of you were when you first visited Edoras. I suppose I should have known all along! I think he loves you, too. No man looks at a woman in that way unless he's in love with her" Móna said and smiled.

"My uncle would probably not be so impressed, though. I don't think he will let me marry a 'mere' Marshal", Lothíriel sighed.

"I think I might know something of how you feel. I don't mean it's the same thing, though. You see, like Erfréa ungracefully revealed, I am rather fond of Prince Théodred. And from what I've gathered, he seems to like me, too. But he has never made an attempt towards me, and I doubt he ever will", the younger woman explained quietly.

"Well, at least I would call those looks he's giving you attempts. If you ask for my opinion, I would say he will propose to you in no time", Lothíriel crooned and they glanced at the prince who was giving them and especially Móna some very meaningful glances, no doubt encouraged by ale. The two girls giggled, which of course caught Erfréa's attention, and the fair-haired woman spent rest of the banquet inquiring what they had been talking of.

When the dinner was finished, the King's musicians started playing at the one end of the dais. The music was not as exactly what Lothíriel was used to hearing back in the courts of Gondor, but it was very lively and full of sheer love for life. At first, everyone felt too heavy with freshly eaten food to actually dance, but after a while the space meant for dancing began to fill, and soon a nervous-looking young Rohir came to ask Lothíriel for a dance. Stretching her legs sounded good so she accepted the invitation and joined the young man. She did not exactly know the steps, but she had received enough lessons to get a hold of this new dance rather quickly. The young man she was dancing with seemed to be having the time of his life, especially when he got to lift her from her waist.

But suddenly, on the end of one move, she was lifted faster and higher than before. She almost yelped with surprise, but succeeded in smothering that instinctive reaction. She was whirled around and he was there, all in his golden-green glory, and looking at her as if she might disappear any moment. The candlelight made his hair shine like there was some celestial halo around his head.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

"You may", Lothíriel breathed and her voice came out as a strange little whimper. _And every single one after this one._

They danced, mostly in silence but their eyes speaking in volumes to each other. Lothíriel's heart beat fast, and she was alive, perhaps more than ever. She loved this man and wanted him and she did not know what she would do if she could not have him. The music was in her ears and heart yet it was far away at the same time, and for a moment, only the two of them existed in this world.

But then the music ended and he pulled her with him to the other side of the hall.

"I need to speak with you, my lady", he said quietly. "Will you come outside with me?"

"I will just go and fetch my cloak", Lothíriel answered breathlessly and rushed back to her room. She grabbed her cape and then ran for the purse where she kept her jewellery. Quickly she dug through it, caught her grandfather's ring and put it inside her cape's pocket. Tonight was the night. And she sensed the right moment was approaching fast.

* * *

Once outside, Éomer led her by the stone terrace to the backside of the Golden Hall, which faced the White Mountains. There was a small unkempt garden down there, but no other soul was on sight. Still, he pulled her into the shadow that cast over by the King's House.

"I am sorry for not having had the chance to speak with you before now. How have you fared here last months?" he asked finally. He was standing very close to her, close enough to touch, to embrace, to kiss...

"I have been well. I have tried to keep myself busy", Lothíriel answered. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes away from him, now that they were alone; she wanted to drink all of this moment, fold it gently and hide it inside her heart for the times of separation which no doubt lay ahead of them.

"So my sister tells me. Master Flód seems to think you a very talented healer", he remarked.

"Well, I have just had good teachers. I'm not even nearly as good as Master Flód and probably never will be", she said, feeling a bit awkward for his compliment. "What of you, my lord?"

"As well as usually, if a bit lonely", Éomer answered with clear honesty.

"I've missed you also... I always do, when you are away", she whispered, taking his hand in hers. It was a large and steady hand, with warm and calloused skin – warrior's hand. He seemed to swallow then, and for a long moment he was quiet. Then he lifted his other hand to touch her face.

"You are very beautiful tonight. Painfully so, to be honest. But aren't the most important things in our lives often that way?" he whispered gently, tracing her face with his fingers. She lifted her own hand and covered his, twining their fingers and pressing his palm against her cheek. He bent his head towards her, and she could feel his hot breath, see the searching look in his dark eyes... but it was her who took that final leap and pressed her lips against his. He gasped with amazement but recovered quickly. He took her face between his calloused hands and answered her kiss with fiery ardour. And the kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced, desperate and full of passion and it could be the only kiss she would ever get to give him... So she held on to him until she had to gasp for air.

He was breathless as well, his face flushed; his expression was both anguished and euphoric at the same time. He still held her face between his hands, only now his forehead was against the top of her head... And her heart was beating in time with his, longing and wanting and _needing..._

"Lothíriel... my heart, my life, my love..." he whispered, and there was such vulnerability about his voice when he spoke that she felt weak, but also it made her heart fill with love and tenderness for him.

_"Le annon veleth nín",_she answered, and he knew enough of Sindarin to understand what she said. And he kissed her again and pulled her closer to himself, which she gladly allowed.

For a long moment, they just lingered there, in each other's arms. For this one perfect moment, the world was flawless and there was no war, no shadows looming taller with each passing day, no know-it-all Stewards to stand in the way of two kindred spirits. After a while, she broke the silence and graced his rough cheek with her fingers. Silently, she decided it was something she could get used to.

"I have something for you", she said and took the ring from her pocket. "This belonged to my grandfather once. I've been looking for a man who would earn it. I feel that you are that man."

She took his hand in hers and carefully pushed the ring to his third finger. She was surprised when the ring actually fit – she did not remember Grandfather having as big hands as Éomer had.

"Funny, that you should give me this", he said quietly as he looked down on the ring she had just given him, his expression indicating emotional turmoil. "I was meaning to give you a similar gift."

He reached for his own pocket and produced another ring: this one was golden with a red jewel planted on it.

"This was passed to my father from his mother Eadmod. He gave it to my mother... on her death bed, she took this from her finger and asked me to give it to the woman I loved", he said silently, his voice full of emotion as he put it on her third finger. "And I can tell you that I have never loved any woman like I love you."

And with that, their hearts were sealed together.

"There is something I need to ask you, Lothíriel", he whispered after a while.

"What is it?" she asked, gazing deeply into his eyes.

Silently, he lowered himself down on his knees in the front of her and as he gathered her hands in his own, breath was caught in her throat (she was sure her heart missed one or two beats when she realized what was happening). He searched her eyes quietly and then he started to speak.

"Lothíriel, I have always adored you – from that first moment when I lifted you from the waves and you looked at me with such perfect trust... I loved you as a friend, but when I watched you run with a bow in your hand towards the face of danger, and on the times when only your letters seemed to be things to look forward to, I began to realize that there is something more in my heart for you. My Princess, I've become to wish you to be beside me for the rest of our days. I know there are obstacles between us, and that your uncle does not approve of a mere Marshal loving you and wanting you to be his to keep, but by Béma's name, I am ready to do anything it takes to win his consent. I will win the entire world's approval and ride to the very gates of Mordor if that's what it takes. Lothíriel, would you perhaps consider that some day, when I've proven myself to be worthy of you, I could become your husband?"

The princess found it suddenly very hard to speak – it is such a hard thing when one is sobbing and trembling and one's heart is about to burst – but finally she gave him her answer: she threw herself against him and kissed him with all she had. She did not need to explain that to her he'd never have to prove himself or that in her heart, the two of them were already wed.

"I take it that your answer is positive?" he asked breathlessly after a long, passionate kiss.

"I can't imagine where you got that impression from!"

He laughed and kissed her again – many times.

"Lothíriel of Dol Amroth –"

"Éomer of Aldburg –"

"I now promise to you –"

"I swear to you –"

_" – that I will never marry anyone else than you." _

* * *

Lothíriel would have been rather happy to stay there for the rest of the night, but after a while she began to feel cold, and it was probably a high time to return the hall. She did not want anyone noticing that she and Éomer both were missing and start coming up with all kinds of ideas. So, after one last kiss, the two returned the celebration. To prevent any suspicions, they parted at the door and went both on their separate ways.

The princess spent the remainder of the night in golden haze, and as she danced with captain Aradhain, the poor man probably took her for a madwoman. Of course, even as she wildly leaped around with the captain who was desperately trying to keep up, she knew she was not any closer to marrying Éomer than she had been before their passionate moment outside. But now, for the first time, she actually had _hope_. Now she had an ally in him and something to believe in... something to fight for. If Beren could win the hand of Lúthien, then surely Éomer could find a way to Lothíriel?

After a dance with Aradhain and then Gailion, she got back to her friends' table, Erfréa looked at her curiously.

"You, my dear princess, look like the cat that wanted the cream and got it. Where were you?" the younger woman asked. Lothíriel just beamed.

"Just dancing. And places. Dancing places", she answered. Erfréa leant towards her and sniffed loudly.

"Have you been drinking mead?" Erfréa asked, suspicious now.

_Indeed I have. Mead's name was Love and the vessel I drank it from is called Éomer and you can't have any,_Lothíriel thought giddily (she'd probably have laughed at her own thoughts had she not been in such a euphoric state of mind), but of course such things could not be said out loud.

"I suppose I have", she answered instead. Before Erfréa could say anything, Lothíriel hugged her tightly. "You're amazing! I love you and you are never allowed to change!"

"Lothig, you're sounding awfully lot like me. Should I call Master Flód?" Erfréa asked suspiciously. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one hugging people and making teary love confessions tonight, not you."

"Let her be, Lady Erfréa. It is good to see her so happy for once", said captain Aradhain, who had just returned the table after another dance, this time with a less enthusiastic partner. The fair-haired woman gave up, but she did shoot curious glances at the princess every now and then. Something similar seemed to be going over where Éomer was feasting with Éothain and several of his men: his musical laughter and unusually good mood seemed to puzzle everyone around him.

By midnight, one of the King's musicians finally blew the horn to announce that the celebrations of the day had come to an end. After one last toast together the people began to put out the lights. One log was taken from the fire with pliers (it would be put aside for the coming year and then used to light the fireplace) before the last torch was extinguished. Suddenly it was pitch black in the hall: it would stay dark for the whole night until the first light of dawn, when the Crown Prince would rise with the sun and lit up the new fire.

Ever since her attack, Lothíriel had been somewhat scared of darkness unless it was in her own room with the door bolted tight. So she let out a sigh of relief as the captain took a firm grasp of her arm. It would have been easy to get lost in the dark hall and the crowd of people swarming about them.

"I'll take you to your room, Princess", he said and was already pushing her ahead when Innas joined them, muttering to himself how spooky this place was when there was no light.

"Are you truly feeling well, my lady?" Aradhain asked as they approached the door of Lothíriel's chamber. "You did seem very giddy. Lady Erfréa was not entirely wrong to ask if you've been drinking..."

"Oh, I am perfectly fine, good captain. I suppose it's the mead - I'm not sure I really have resistance for it", she answered and gave him a serene smile, and her words seemed to console him. Hopefully he wouldn't report to Aunt Ivriniel about the mead-drinking, or there would probably be strong-worded conversations when she next saw her aunt.

At the door of her room, the three bid good night to each other and Lothíriel retreated in her chamber. She bolted the door and then took few light dance steps before flinging herself to the bed. There she let out a small giggle as she studied the ring that now adorned her finger. Feeling the golden waves of happiness course through her, she made the decision, one she hoped she could keep no matter what future would bring. She had had enough of moping and being miserable. Tomorrow, a new era would begin: an era of hope.

**_End of Part 1_**

* * *

**A/N: **As with using Simbelmynë in decorating the wreaths, the custom of the Crown Prince rising with the sun to light the new fire is my own idea. The story of forbidden lovers Godan and Holen is also my own invention.

_Le annon veleth nín_= I give my love to you.

Béma was the name the Rohirrim had for vala Oromë, whom they respected perhaps the best among the Valar.

So, Éomer and Lothírel have pledged themselves to each other... but there is still a very long way for them to travel before their dream can be realized. I know chapter 9 could be considered a bit early for them to confess their feelings to each other, but the conflicts of this story are somewhere else than in their love for one another.


	11. Chapter 10

**Part 2**

_Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair. - William Blake_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The soft sound of knocking came finally.

When she heard it, Lothíriel couldn't hold back a small squeal of excitement, and so she ran to the window as fast as she could.

Éomer stood under her window just like he had promised earlier that day. They had met in the hallway and she had very accidentally dropped her handkerchief, which he had readily picked up for her; when he had offered it to her, he had told her to wait for him tonight.

And wait she did, to the point where she barely noticed what happened around her, and Erfréa was convinced she was having a hangover from all the mead she had supposedly drunk last night. The day's celebrations were more or less wasted on her, but the rosy clouds she was currently inhabiting seemed perfectly adequate too. She had retreated for the night rather early, but she could plead that to being exhausted by all the festivities. Erfréa had been oblivious, but judging by the look on her face, Móna seemed to know what it all was about.

Now he was finally there, waiting anxiously for her, and as soon as she appeared in her window, his face broke into a smile.

"Hello, Lord Marshal", she greeted him, a warm feeling spreading inside her.

"Hello to you also, Princess", he answered and offered her his hand. Taking support from him, she climbed out and closed the shutters behind herself. Hopefully, no one would even notice she was gone from her room.

Like the last night, they sneaked around to the backside of the great building that was the residence of the Lord of the Mark. There was not great too many places with privacy they needed, so the cold stone bench there in the darkness would have to do for now. And as most of the inhabitants of the city were busy with the Yule festivities, it wasn't likely that they would be disturbed any time soon.

It was cold outside of course, but when he wrapped his cloak about her and she curled up against his warm body, Lothíriel quickly forgot about the chill of the winter air. He had brought some mulled wine too, so the cold was not a problem. They were young and the exhilaration of their fresh love kept them warm.

Resting her head on his shoulder, the princess sighed contentedly and gazed out to the plains that seemed dark and silver in the moonlight.

"It's so beautiful here in Rohan. I feel like I'll never grow tired of gazing out to the plains", she said softly.

"I hope you never will", he answered, holding her a bit tighter against himself. "I worry that some day you'll grow weary of them, though. Are you truly willing to leave the shores of the sea for good and trade them for the open expanses of my land?"

Lothíriel thought about this for a moment and looked up at him.

"I would be lying if I said I'll never miss the sea", she admitted at length, "but if the choice is between you and the sea, I know which one I'll pick. And it's not like we can't go visit Dol Amroth sometimes. I'll even teach you to swim!"

"I can swim", he said defensively.

"Ha! That's what you say, but you have never seen a true daughter or son of Dol Amroth in action", she said and smiled. He rolled his eyes in mock derelict.

"Whatever you say, beloved", he said and she punched his shoulder, but that just made him chuckle. When she pouted, he kissed her and that was very nice indeed.

After a while, she lay her head on his shoulder again, relishing his closeness.

"Sometimes... sometimes I worry if I'm enough for you. And what I can offer. I can't help but wonder if you'll be happy in Aldburg", he said quietly.

"Oh, didn't we have this conversation just now? Éomer, you know you don't have to prove anything to me – least of all yourself. I know that for me, you're more worthy than all the kings of elves and men. And with you, even a small cottage in the middle of a forest would seem a palace to me. So stop worrying whether I'll be happy with you, because none of the conditions matter to me", she told him very solemnly, and if anything could be deduced from his expression, he believed her.

"My dearest Lothíriel", he whispered and kissed her again. "Even if it's enough for you... what of your father? Would he give your hand in marriage to a Marshal of the Mark?"

"I... I think he would. Not right away, perhaps, but eventually he'd realize what it means for me. Father always says that he wants me to be happy, and that he wants me to be loved like he was loved when my mother still lived. And he likes you, so that would make it easier for him to consent. If he saw how much you mean to me..." the princess said softly, imagining how her father would look like once the day came that a proposal for marriage would be made.

"But that still leaves your uncle. My love for you could be truer and purer than anything in this world, but I would still be a mere Third Marshal", he pointed out quietly, sadness colouring his voice.

"Maybe so", she agreed and took his hand in hers, "but we mustn't give up hope. I feel that if we can convince my father, he will help us. He'll speak with my uncle... and my cousins might be of help too. Cousin Boromir has always been nice to me, even if I'm not as close with him as I'm with Faramir. And they say that my lord Uncle favours no one like Boromir... if we have my mighty cousin by our side, we may yet convince my uncle."

"I hope you're right about that", Éomer said, twining his fingers with hers.

"Of course I'm right. I always am", she said lightly and he snorted. She smiled to herself before speaking again, "You'd like Boromir and Faramir, I think. And they'd like you, so I think both of them would be willing to help if we just asked for their support. You remind me of Boromir sometimes... you're both good, brave men."

He lifted her face then, so that he could look into her eyes. All humour was gone from his face now.

"I don't feel so brave sometimes", he said softly, looking at her with such tenderness that it seemed to warm the very depths of her soul.

"You can't make me believe that you're not brave. You're one of the most bravest men I've ever met", she stated, but her words didn't bring out the smile she had hoped for. Gently, he cupped her face in his hand.

"Oh, I fear many things. Every day, I look around myself and I see so much need and distress... and there's so little I can do about it. The future keeps getting darker and darker... even more, I fear losing you. More than anything, I'm scared that one day, you won't be there anymore... and I can't find you", he whispered. Lothíriel placed her hand on his, looking gravely at him.

"You'll never lose me. I promise. We will always be able to find each other", she said and pulled him into a kiss, and that was they did for a long while, until he hugged her closer to himself and she placed her head against his chest, wishing away all the fears and darkness from both their hearts.

* * *

She looked happy.

That morning, as she emerged from her room, there was almost dreamlike expression on her face, along with a glint in her eyes as if she had a secret. Whenever she fell silent, she'd look down and smile to herself, or perhaps cast a quick glance about in a way that was probably supposed to go unnoticed.

But he saw because he was watching her - and because he knew her face better than most. Like most young and inexperienced people, she didn't know how to be discreet about being in love.

For in love she was, and the way she'd keep looking at the Marshal implied that the emotion was very much returned... and now it was not just quiet wasting away, for the Marshal kept glancing at her, too.

Something had happened between the two. And something had to be done about it, quickly.

Put perhaps... perhaps it was for the better to let the matters evolve on their own.

He had a feeling everything would fall into place in a most favourable way, and all he had to do was just wait.

* * *

Like the previous night, there was a knock on her window not long after she had excused herself and retreated for bed. Erfréa had asked if she was ill, because apparently it was no time for anyone to go to bed, but Móna appeared to be a good ally: she had distracted the blonde girl like only she could, and Lothíriel had gone on her way, happy expectation already filling her insides.

She had sat brushing her hair when he announced his presence, and enthusiastically she ran to open the window for him. And there he stood, grinning in a way that only sneaking about in the dark could make one grin. As he promised, he offered the basket for her; she took it as he leaped and climbed in.

It was winter and they were not supposed to be in such tender terms, but picnic was what Lothíriel had decided to have - even if that would have to happen on the floor of her bedchamber. On the other hand, that was not such a bad place (she did not have any illusions about what her female relatives would have said if they knew that a man she was not married to was currently in her bedchamber)... and she couldn't present him some of the delicacies of her home like she'd have wanted. Not that there was something wrong with Rohirric food, but picnic was never quite right without grapes from the gardens of Dol Amroth or the hazelnut cheese they made in the kitchens of her home. She was rather delighted to find a flask of Gondorian wine from the basket, though; as much as she liked the mead they served here, she sometimes missed the wine of her home.

Éomer's look of curiosity (and slight bewilderment) was rather endearing as he watched her spread a blanket on the floor, unpacked the contents of basket, and light couple of candles to create nice atmosphere. He did sit down with her on the floor, at least.

"So, this is how you dine in Dol Amroth these days?" he asked innocently as she passed him a goblet of wine. She gently punched his knee (which probably hurt her fist more than him) in mock annoyance.

"Of course not! Picnics are considered a very fashionable way of spending one's time on summer days, but because it's not summer, we can't go outside and I'm pretty sure it'd bee too windy anyway, so this is where we're going to have our picnic. Even if it's not outdoors", she told him. He lifted his eyebrows and his eyes glinted with amusement.

"My éored is very fashionable in Gondorian terms, then. We frequently eat outdoors - even during winter", he commented lightly, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'll have to tell everyone that when I go visit home. I'm sure the ladies of my father's court will be very impressed", she said and tasted the wine. It was pretty good - especially because it tasted like home. "We sometimes had picnics with my brother Amrothos. Elphir and Erchirion thought it was stupid, but we'd pack up food and go to the beach... we could spend entire afternoons on the beach like that."

"Wasn't your father ever reluctant to let you two alone on the beach?" Éomer asked and picked up a honey cake from one plate.

"No, not really. We were always very careful when we went there. After you saved me from the waves, I became more careful whenever I'd step into the waves or a boat. And Amrothos... well, I suppose he felt he was responsible for me, so he'd look after me. After himself, too. Of course, we sometimes did some pretty stupid things but never when it came to the sea", she explained slowly. "And when you live by the sea, you hear so many scary stories about people drowning that you learn to be careful. You learn to respect the sea."

He nodded quietly at that and looked rather serious. No doubt he was harbouring some horrifying scene of finding her drowned on some distant beach, so she decided to distract him.

"How did you come by all this?" she asked, gesturing at the food she had spread out on the blanket. Éomer smiled.

"I've raided the kitchens of Meduseld more times than I care to count. And being friendly with the people there often proves to be advantageous", he answered. Lothíriel narrowed her eyes.

"So you spend your spare time by sweet-talking to the kitchen maids?" she asked, her voice so ominous that she was rather proud of herself. She wasn't able to fool him, though. He gave her a jovial smile.

"I wouldn't even dream of doing that", he said, his face a perfect imitation of shock. Lothíriel made a face at him and pretended to be very interested in her slice of apple.

A silence fell between them. When she looked at him again, he was watching her with sudden solemnity, even something that resembled wonder.

"What is it? Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.

"Like what?" he asked back.

"Like... like you weren't completely convinced that I'm here", she said quietly.

"It's because I'm not", he answered and his voice was equally soft. He leant towards her for a bit, watching her intently. "You must understand that... that I never expected any of this to happen. I never thought you'd come to stay here in Edoras... or that you'd feel about me like I feel about you. It still amazes me sometimes... When we said goodbye on that day years ago, I didn't expect to see you again."

"Then what did you think would happen?" Lothíriel asked.

"I thought that as soon as you'd reach the proper age, you'd be married off to some Gondorian nobleman. I believed you'd live your life in some faraway country... and that you'd forget about me as soon as our correspondence ended. All this... it's more than I thought I'd ever have of you", he said gently, taking her hand in his.

"You really thought I'd forget about you?" she wondered out loud. "That was what I feared, too... that you saw me as some silly little girl who wouldn't stop bothering you, and that you'd be glad to be rid of me."

"Foolish woman! As if I'd ever be able to forget you. As if there was some way I could not love you!" he scoffed and kissed her fingers. It made her heart flutter, swell so that it was almost too big for her chest... and she knew it was true. He loved her, he always had. Just like she had always loved him.

"I often imagined your life here. And... I admit, when we first set from Dol Amroth, I was kind of worried. I thought that maybe you had moved on with your life and I'd find you married, and a big family around you..." she said quietly. Éomer grimaced at that.

"Well, my uncle sometimes spoke of it - said I would do well if I started a family. Sometimes... sometimes I'd look at the women around. I'd think about them and if I could share my life with them. But none of them seemed like what I wanted. I realize it was because none of them were you", he said softly. "So, when my uncle would mention it, I told him I was not ready for settling down."

"Did he believe you?" she asked.

"I suppose he did, for eventually he stopped talking about it. He probably thought I was too infatuated with my free life of the celebrated bachelor", he said and grimaced again.

It took a moment for her to realize what that meant exactly. Surprisingly, it stung.

"You mean, you had..." she began, not sure how to continue; however, he seemed to know what she was thinking.

"I did. I... I wasn't always true to you. But you must understand it was only because I did not think I'd ever see you again. And even less I believed in the chance that you might have fond feelings for me", he said very gravely. Then he sighed and leant back a bit. "Life in Aldburg is sometimes very lonely. Often the very future seems so dark and bleak - so dark that I wonder if there even _is_ a future for Rohan. Sometimes one just..."

"... wants to forget", she concluded. Then she gave him a small smile. "I'm not angry at you. I understand. Even if I may not completely comprehend that kind of loneliness... but now you have me. You won't have to be alone anymore. I promise."

That made him smile and he leant towards her, claiming her lips into a kiss. When he pulled back, he looked at her tenderly.

"You are a precious woman, Lothíriel. And very dear to me. Don't ever forget that", he said softly.

She smiled, brushing her fingers across his bearded cheek.

"You are dear to me too, Éomer."

* * *

Perhaps it was good that he was to leave next day. Had he stayed in Edoras for much longer, Lothíriel was sure people would have begun to notice what was going on between her and the Third Marshal, as it wasn't so easy to be not so obvious about her feelings when he was near. It wasn't like she wanted him to go, but the part of her that still had some reason left reminded her of how it was not really wise for her to float around him like she had lost her mind. Still, that did not mean she did not mean to say goodbye to him in a very thorough manner.

After breakfast (during which she had to force herself to keep her eyes away from _him_), she got Erfréa to distract Innas who had the watch-turn that morning. Her friend was pleased to help, even though Lothíriel did not exactly tell her what she was up to, but that was just Erfréa: the girl would have helped her just for the sake of mischief.

So, when Innas was otherwise occupied, Lothíriel sneaked away from under his watchful eye. Striding quickly, she went outside and hurried down to the stables. The luck was with her that morning, as the most of the horses were out and so were the men attending to the animals. Pleased at her genius, the princess crept into Firefoot's stall. The animal watched her curiously but did not seem to be bothered by her (though she had no doubt the horse would bite off her fingers if she tried to mount it). She petted its powerful neck while waiting for him and told with whispers just how much she loved the animal's master.

Finally, his heavy steps began to near the stall and a curious kind of excitement made her heart beat faster..

He did not seem very surprised to see her there. Instead, he grinned.

"Strange. I do not remember packing anything, but here I seem to have the most beautiful gear any man of Rohan has ever had", he commented and stepped inside the stall. She giggled as he pulled her into his arms.

"I came to give you something that should motivate you to stay safe", the princess whispered.

"Oh? What might that be?" he inquired, the smile on his face becoming wider.

"Just this, my dear Marshal", Lothíriel answered and kissed him with all the enthusiasm of a person who had only just learned about the exciting things one could do with one's mouth. He groaned and held her tight against his chest, only letting her go when Éothain shouted from the door of the stables and asked what was keeping him. With one final kiss, he promised to be back as soon as he could, and mounted with swiftness of a man who had spent most of his life on a saddle. Then he urged Firefoot, and was gone before Lothíriel had even caught her breath.

As her heart began to settle down, she listened to the receding voices of the Third Marshal and his riders. She quickly checked on her mare and then strolled out as if she had been doing everything but kissing a golden-haired warrior in one of the stalls.

Innas came running down the stone steps then, looking terrified and angry. He was quite harsh in his scolding, which went on for the most of the next hour, but Lothíriel was not too appalled. Innas was completely justified and she played the part of remorseful criminal flawlessly. Serenely she thought that the world would have to end to ruin her mood.

Later that day, when Éowyn did not seem to be so preoccupied by her duties, Lothíriel asked the older woman to accompany her on a stroll. The King's niece already knew the princess well enough to know when she had something important to tell, so she quickly set aside what things she had currently been working on.

Once they were walking slowly down the hill with her guards following them, Lothíriel explained what had happened last night (she cut the amount of the kisses to minimum, though) and that she and Éomer had made the Promise: it was not really the same thing as marriage, but it was a binding vow and betraying it was seen as a harsh offence. Éowyn listened to her quietly, her face not betraying her thoughts.

"No wonder he was beaming that way this morning. I nearly expected him to start floating any second", the woman commented finally, and then gave a small smile. "I am happy for you, of course. However, do you realize this is not yet the happy ending you were hoping for? Wormtongue and your uncle won't let you two marry just because you made the Promise. You both still need your uncles' blessings, and it is unlikely that they will come easily."

"I haven't forgotten about that, Éowyn. But for the first time, I actually feel some sort of hope. That there is chance for us. I know it can take years... Perhaps we can only marry after my uncle dies and my cousin Boromir succeeds him. Boromir should be more understanding, and Faramir at least would be glad to help", Lothíriel answered. She didn't mention that Denethor seemed to have particularly strong Númenorean blood and that now, nearing the age of 90, he was still vital. Who knew for how long the man would persist? The idea of having to wait for 10, even 20 years to marry the man she loved, was terrifying. And that was only if in ten years there even was a world where people could marry each other.

"Well, I wish you all the best. I hope this ends well for the two of you... and if there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. For you, and for him", Éowyn said softly. Then, without any warning, the older woman hugged the princess. Only the tightness of her grip told of her emotion.

* * *

For one beautiful week, Lothíriel lived in a bubble of light and happiness. Erfréa suspected it was because of some special brew of mead that had long-lasting effects. She was very annoyed she had not gotten any.

All of a sudden it seemed that the world had somehow changed for the better overnight. The colours were more vivid, the sounds more melodic and every breath Lothíriel took vibrated with life. She was filled with happy waiting, anticipating to see his face and feel his arms about her again. She was in love and it was more wonderful than anything she had ever experienced before. Life was a song and he was the melody, and as to any young and enamoured person, she felt she and him were the only ones who knew the lyrics.

It was all she could do from writing of her feelings to Aredhel; while she loved the older woman and had confidence in her brother's wife, she decided to keep this all to herself for now. Then again, the wife of her brother saw much more than she usually gave out, so the cheerful letter Lothíriel wrote her would probably make Aredhel suspect something anyway.

Too soon she would thought that this state of mind was like the first flowers of an early spring: first tempted to rise up from the earth by sun, only to wither away with sudden frosty night.

* * *

**A/N: **Well. That ended on an ominous note. But I fear you must wait for at least the next chapter to see what that is all about.

I must say my own writing frustrates me sometimes. Now I can't get rid of the image of Éomer lying with his head in her lap in some gardenswing of Dol Amroth and Lothíriel (force)feeding him grapes. Oh, if I only could draw!

As always, thanks for the comments!


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

A week and a half after Yule celebrations captain Aradhain came to see Lothíriel in the House of Healing. The tall soldier stood awkwardly at the door of the building while Master Flód eyed him warily. The healer, while he often worked over all kinds of battle injuries (or perhaps because of them) didn't seem to have much love for armed people appearing on his doorstep.

"Captain? Is something wrong?" the princess asked curiously when she came from the other room carrying some things Master Flód had sent her to fetch.

"I need to have a word with you, Princess. In private, if that would suit you", Aradhain answered. She turned to look at the elderly healer.

"Is it all right if I leave for a moment, Master?" she asked him.

"Go ahead, Lady Lothíriel", Master Flód prompted. So the princess followed the soldier out, then up the stone steps and all the way to her room. Once there she gestured at the chair by the writing desk, urging him to sit down while she herself stood.

"What is it?" she finally asked. For a moment, she feared that the captain had learned of her relationship with Éomer and was here to admonish her. She wouldn't have been too surprised to learn if Aunt Ivriniel had also tasked the man with making sure she behaved like a princess ought to (and it was unlikely that secret engagements with Marshals were included in the definition of "proper behaviour").

"There is something I need to tell you, and I fear you will not find it a delightful thing to hear. I will understand if you feel angry, but I ask you to remember that I am only a messenger, not the architect of what you are about to hear", the captain began. His words made her feel even more uncomfortable. The man took a deep breath and continued on.

"Not long before we first set for Edoras, your uncle called me to Minas Tirith. There I received some special orders that I was to deliver to you once we were settled down here and thought the moment would be right. You see, your uncle has come to the decision that you should marry Prince Théodred as soon as possible."

Lothíriel's eyes widened and she looked at the captain with furrowed brow, not quite believing his words.

"Just _what _did you say?" she demanded, hoping that perhaps she had heard wrong or that this was some strange joke. However, the man's face was dead serious.

"Lord Denethor thinks that it would be a good idea for Gondor and Rohan to join their forces against our common enemy. This alliance would be best reached by a marriage between the Houses of Eorl and Dol Amroth. Your uncle has long since negotiated this with Théoden King and they both find the idea agreeable", Aradhain said carefully. Lothíriel took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It was not easy and it took a long moment, but finally she felt composed enough to talk.

"Captain Aradhain, as soon as you exit my room, I want you to go and write a letter for my uncle. In the letter, you will tell him exactly where he can put his-" she began, but was interrupted by Aradhain rising up.

"My lady, there is more. Lord Denethor also says that refusal will not be accepted. He does not like your relationship between Marshal Éomer – in fact, he even snatched some of your letters to the Marshal to see whether it was becoming more... serious. He said that should there be any signs of affection between you and the Marshal – or any man other than the Prince, for that matter – I need to forward this message: the only Rohir man you will be allowed to marry is the Crown Prince and no one else", the captain said, still preserving his calm tone. How could he talk so serenely when her life and future were at stake?

She had not been sent here for safety and protection – she was here as a mere pawn on her uncle's board!

"He stole my letters! I can't believe it!" Lothíriel shouted, her hands squeezing into fists. "Well, my uncle may very well forget about his little ploy, because I'm not going to act as his puppet! He may find other pawns for his power play!"

Aradhain sighed and looked down for a short moment. Then he lifted his eyes and spoke again, and each word of his seemed to be a dagger through her heart.

"I am sorry to tell you this, but... Lord Denethor said that should you try and refuse, there will be repercussions. When the war breaks out – and it will, your uncle stressed – your brothers will be the first to be sent to the front line. As for you, he will banish you and take away your rights as a member of the royal family of Dol Amroth", he said with terrifying finality.

Cold horror and disbelief turned her blood into ice as Lothíriel realized she was trapped.

* * *

The worst part of it was the fact that she had almost tasted the sweetness of how it could be like with Éomer. If she had never gotten that taste, perhaps this fate would not have been so bad. Perhaps she could have learned to love Théodred. After all, it had been taught to her ever since childhood that her marriage – if she ever married in the first place – would most likely be for a political alliance. It was nothing new, really.

But she had sworn to Éomer. She had made the Promise. She had promised she would never take anyone else as her husband than him. And she had dared to dream and believe in a future that had never even had a chance to become reality.

That was the reason she could not think, could not see anything through the fog, could barely speak. Her mind was not there when the engagement was announced after the dinner, and she did not dare to look at Théodred's stony face or meet Móna's bloodshot eyes, nor did she look at the face of seething Erfréa who obviously thought her a traitor now. She let the numbness wash over her and keep the eventual collapse at bay at least for the moment. She could not burst in tears on the front of her new people. Some diplomatic errand this was turning out to be!

And no matter what she did, she would end up looking like a traitor.

Of course, she did not have any choice. She could not know whether her uncle would really carry out with his threat. She had no way of knowing whether it was just bluff to keep her in line or if he'd really do something so cruel. But that was not a game she could play too, for the price was too high for her to take the risk. Even if she could somehow survive as an outcast, deprived of her rights and family and dignity, she could never risk the lives of her brothers. Three lives for one. Was that not a fair price?

What had happened to the wise, good ruler her uncle had been? What had made the man to threaten her with such horrible things? She had always thought Lord Denethor and her father were in good terms. For if she somehow had not cared about her brothers, Father would have, and she knew just how hard it would hit him if he lost any of his children.

Lothíriel had always known that her privileged life was something many would have traded anything for. That was the first thing her aunt had ever taught her and she had thought she had understood that. Did she even have the _right _to feel and act this way? After all, she was not losing her family or the roof over her head. She was becoming the wife of a good, kind prince. There were countless of people who had it so many times worse than she, yet here she was, mourning for a life and future she would never have now! The mere thought made her feel intense self-disgust. And her pain was not just for herself, but the stony-faced prince beside her, for the young woman she had become to consider a close friend, and for the Third Marshal who would probably go mad once he heard the news.

She barely heard it when the King announced that there would not be the usual betrothal time of one year that was customary for the Gondorian nobility. The wedding would take place on the Mid-year's Day, six months from now. It was important to see that the royal line was preserved, after all.

Finally, exhausted by exertion, the King slumped back on his throne as the people gathered in the hall started applauding at this great news. For great it was, to see that in the middle of everything there was still promise of future and new life. However, Théodred just strode away without another look at Lothíriel, and the reluctant bride excused herself, pleading to her exhaustion.

Only when she was alone in her chamber did she let herself cry.

It was the first night she dreamed that the man she had promised herself to had died.

* * *

The song had ended, the colours had been drawn out. Suddenly the sky was grey and the wind blew right through her. The flower had withered before it had really even bloomed.

Erfréa and Móna did not want to have anything to do with her anymore. Somehow, they had gotten the idea that Lothíriel had only ever wanted to become the queen. The two young women did not even want to hear her explanations when she tried to approach them. Erfréa often seemed to be the more dominant one, but it was Móna who truly led. When the auburn-haired girl became convinced of something, it was hard to try and change her mind. Hurt as deep as hers was the kind to lead her, or anyone in her position, to believe things she might not have believed otherwise.

And there was no word of _him_.

Even Éowyn seemed somewhat reserved, at least until that one night week later the princess practically threw herself into the other woman's arms, crying helplessly like a child as she told her friend why she was now engaged to the Prince. And as Lothíriel's story progressed, Éowyn's face became soft and compassionate. Finally, when there just were no more tears to be shed, the princess asked the question that had been plaguing her mind ever since her betrothal had been announced:

"Has there been any word of Éomer?"

Éowyn sighed heavily.

"The word was taken to him the day after the announcement. I talked personally with the man who delivered the message. He... he said that the Marshal is more grim than ever, but he doesn't speak, and he barely sleeps or eats", the older woman told her quietly, and every sentence was a dagger through the princess' heart.

"I never wanted to hurt him", she whispered unhappily.

"I know you didn't, Lothíriel. He will understand that one day too", Éowyn answered, weaving her fingers through the princess' hair in an attempt to bring at least some comfort. "I wish I could help you somehow and make it better, but I am just as helpless as you are."

"Can you at least... forward my message? Tell him that I am sorry, and that I didn't mean this to happen", Lothíriel pleaded.

"I will see that he knows the truth. But don't you think you should try and cheer up a bit? This is not the end of the world, after all. Éomer will always be a part of your life, even if it's not the way you'd like him to be. And Théodred is a good man... I'm sure you two will learn to love each other, if you just give him a chance", Éowyn said tentatively, but still with that same gentle tone.

"I promised Éomer. I promised I would marry him and no one else", the princess mumbled quietly. The other woman realized there was no use in talk – at least not now. Perhaps her words would fall on a more fertile ground when the young princess had gotten over the worst shock. At her age, heartbreak was always a disaster comparable to the end of the world.

That didn't mean Éowyn completely let go of the young woman her brother had set his eyes on. She felt inclined to look after the heartbroken girl and try to help her overcome her grief and disappointment. This proved to be beneficial for herself, too, as it also turned her own thoughts from such matters as Théoden King's failing health and Wormtongue's increasingly greedy glances shot at her whenever he thought she was not watching (and sometimes even then).

As the future Queen there were many things Lothíriel needed to learn. One day, she would run Meduseld as Théodred's wife, and Éowyn decided it would be the best if the princess was presented to the tricks and workings of the King's House as early as possible. Additionally, it would give Lothíriel something to do. It certainly was necessary, especially when Wormtongue sent away most of her Swan Knights and even Naneth; apparently the future Queen of the Mark did not need Gondorian guards or maidservants. Regretfully the princess' maid and valiant men started their long journey back home, making Lothíriel feel even more forlorn than she already did. Only captain Aradhain and Gailion were allowed to stay with the princess. The two of them too would have to leave once the royal wedding had taken place.

The captain did not know whether Prince Imrahil knew of the arrangement; when Lothíriel asked, he shrugged and said he had assumed that her Father was aware, though he hadn't discussed the matter with the Prince. If her uncle had left Imrahil in the dark about his plans for her marriage, then she could only imagine that her father would be angry when he heard. While it was technically Lord Denethor's right to arrange a marriage for her, especially a royal one, it would still have been considered an insult not to have her father's blessing. And if Father had known of uncle's plans but had not told her about them... well, Lothíriel was already thinking of what she would tell him once they'd meet again, and her speech would not be very gentle.

As for Gríma Wormtongue, the man appeared to be rather displeased about the whole thing, and grimly the princess wondered whether it was the prospect of the royal blood living on that irritated the man so much. However, the marriage had been negotiated before his influence had become so strong, and so the only thing he could really affect was the timing of the wedding. Later on Lothíriel realized that while it was a Rohirric custom for the engaged pair to marry very quickly after the announcement of marriage, it was very much Gríma's influence that the day of the wedding had been postponed, which proved to be most beneficial for Wormtongue, as it later turned out.

* * *

Lothíriel had already gone to bed when Éowyn knocked at the door of the chamber that belonged to her cousin. Théodred rarely vacated the room these days, as he seemed to prefer Hornburg over Meduseld. And who could blame him? If Éowyn had been able to make that choice, she'd have left Meduseld too. But too many people needed her here, and duty was more important than her own wishes.

"Come in", came Théodred's voice and she entered the dimly-lit room. Her cousin was in shirtsleeves, looking through one of his books. The prince had always been more fond of books than people.

"Evening, cousin. What is it?" he asked without looking up from his book.

"I came to talk with you, Théodred. Do you have a moment?" she asked. Her voice held only the faintest impression of steel that demanded his attention. Most of the time, she and Théodred were in friendly terms, even though he was older than her. But Éowyn had always felt that her cousin respected her in a way he didn't respect many people.

The Prince shut his book and straightened in his chair. He gestured at the other chair in his room, and she took seat.

"Well, cousin, how can I help you?" he asked and studied her face. He looked somehow tired, but then again, that was how he appeared most of the time anyway.

"You should be asking how you can help _yourself. _Théodred, what do you think you're doing precisely?" Éowyn asked. She knew her voice and approach were harsh, but she didn't see much choice about it.

"I fear I don't follow you", he said, looking at her like she had just blamed him of something atrocious.

"Cousin, I am just wondering why you treat your bride-to-be like a complete stranger", Éowyn said, watching her cousin sternly. The prince sighed and brushed a hand across his face.

"Éowyn, I know you're fond of her, but this is none of your business", he said, his voice weary and frustrated.

"Oh, I think it very much _is _my business, considering I seem to be the only member of House of Eorl who actually _has _some concern for our family at the moment", she said briskly.

"Cousin-" he begun, but she wouldn't allow him to continue. Instead, she started speaking again.

"_She _is young and inexperienced, and you're not. _She _has been sent into a strange country and now that most of her guards are gone, she's almost all alone here, yet she's supposed to come in terms with the prospect of becoming the Queen of Rohan. And _she _is supposed to marry a man who barely pays her any attention and when he does, he treats her as if she broke his favourite toy", she reminded him. "And _you _are a grown man who knows his place and duty. _You _are supposed to take care of her and help her."

"Please, Éowyn. This is not easy for me either", Théodred sighed, though he did look kind of embarrassed. At the look on his face, she could feel her annoyance and frustration wearing thin.

"I know that, Théodred", she said, gentler this time. "I know you've been alone for a long time and that Princess Lothíriel wouldn't have been your first choice for wife. But you're stuck together, and you need to fulfil your duty to the Mark. Maybe, if you tried to be considerate and nice to her, you would notice that it's not so bad – that _she _is not so bad."

He lowered his gaze, and Éowyn leant forwards so that she could take her cousin's hand in her own.

"This is precisely the kind of thing Wormtongue takes pleasure in, and you know that. If you keep treating your bride like you've treated her so far... it'll only create more discord and unhappiness. So please, Théodred, try at least to get to know her. Give Lothíriel a chance, and sooner or later, she'll give it to you too."

"All right, all right. You're correct, Éowyn, like you usually are", Théodred said and a ghost of a smile briefly appeared on his face, reminding her of a younger man.

"Thank you, cousin. I appreciate this a lot", she said, squeezed his hand, and went about her way.

Perhaps there was hope for the two yet.

* * *

Éowyn had said that perhaps Lothíriel would be happier if she got to know the Prince, but that did not seem so easy when her future husband spent so little time in Edoras. He usually resided in Helm's Deep, from where he would guard the West-mark with the aid of Lord Erkenbrand. His betrothal did not change this fact; the prospect of marriage did not seem to make him too excited, and it appeared he wasn't too taken by his future wife. At the very best, there was just cool politeness between the engaged pair. Lothíriel had grown up listening to stories of the great love her parents had shared, and though she knew such thing was unusual especially for ladies of nobility who normally married men their fathers chose for them, she had hoped it was something she could have one day too. For now, it didn't look like she would.

But perhaps it wasn't all hopeless, if they just tried to get to know each other, like Éowyn often said in an attempt to cheer up her friend. No matter where his personal affinities lay, after a while Théodred at least appeared to become more or less willing to try. This he demonstrated one bright and chilly morning of early February, when Lothíriel and Éowyn were busy with the seamstresses (a wedding gown needed to be made, after all). One of the Prince's men appeared on the doorway and after bowing his head to the royal women, he spoke: "Prince Théodred requests the presence of his bride."

"What does my cousin want?" Éowyn asked, not turning to look at the man.

"He wishes to speak with the princess, if it pleases her", the Rohir said solemnly. Lothíriel quickly looked at Éowyn, hoping for quick advice on what to do. Her friend nodded.

"Go ahead. We'll finish this later", she prompted and suppressing a sigh, the princess followed the man out. Well, it wouldn't do to refuse seeing her husband-to-be, would it? Captain Aradhain came right after her, from his guard-post by the door; the man seemed to have assumed almost fatherly tendencies after the engagement had been announced. Lothíriel didn't know how she should have told him, but she was very grateful.

Théodred waited her on the terrace that loomed over the unkempt garden. Being there, and seeing the place where she had promised her heart for another man, made her heart ache; however, she did succeed in keeping up her calm and serious countenance.

Sometimes, when she looked at the Crown Prince, he reminded her more of a poet and less of a soldier. He had that look of someone who had been born in the wrong place in a wrong time. Though his back was straight as ever and he looked like he had many vital years ahead of him still, the past years of strife had taken their toll. One could even say he had prematurely aged, with first streaks of silver on his temples and a look in his eyes that seemed older than his years.

The Prince turned to look at her and she curtsied, as a proper lady ought to in the front of her future husband.

"You asked for me, my lord. Here I am", she said and cast her eyes somewhere around his feet.

"Would you walk with me for a bit, my lady?" he asked quietly, offering her his arm. She placed her hand on it and let him lead her down into the unkempt garden, as their guards stayed behind to allow them some privacy.

"My Grandmother loved this place. She's the one who demanded a garden be set here... It was her pride and her most beloved pastime whenever she could leave her duties as the Queen. I was very young back then, but I can still see how she looked when she worked here. My late Mother, bless her soul, was fond of this garden too... but I fear it has been sorely ignored ever since she died", Théodred spoke softly. Indeed, the place had been very nice once; that much she could see. But now weeds grew where once order had ruled.

"What a pity", she mumbled listlessly. She couldn't think of anything to say, not even small pleasantries her aunt had taught her to deliver. And it embarrassed her to no end. After all, Théodred had taken this step of conciliation and was trying his best to be pleasant, yet she couldn't stop moping!

He noticed that of course. Well, one would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice her mood. The Prince stopped and she could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't lift her face to meet his eyes

"You are very unhappy", he said quietly, "it doesn't take a wizard to notice that. And I am sorry to see you so... so lifeless. A young woman such as yourself should not be like that. Is it because of me, my lady? I can understand if that is so. After all, I'm almost old enough to be your father, and I fear I'm not the merriest of men..."

"No. No, it's not your fault, my lord", Lothíriel said quickly. "You're a good man, and it is an honour to become your wife."

"An honour, perhaps", he agreed, though his voice was humourless, "but not a happiness. My lady, why are you so sad?"

She bit her lip and tried to think of something – anything – to tell him. She couldn't tell him the truth, could she? If he knew... an honourable man like himself would have been horrified to hear such thing. However, Théodred was more perceptive than she had thought.

"It is because you have already given your heart to someone, isn't it?" he asked gently. "Is it a man from your home? Or here in Edoras?"

She wanted to deny it, to tell him it was something else; but how could she deny Éomer and still wipe away that look of sorrow on the Prince's face?

"No... no..." she moaned, not sure what it was she even tried to say. "He..."

Instinctively her hand went on the golden ring on her finger, as if an attempt to find some consolation from this proof of her promise and betrayal... Théodred noticed of course and his eyes became very sad.

"It's Éomer, isn't it? You love him... and if I know my cousin at all, he loves you back. Of course he does, the way he looks at you... I should have seen it all along", the Prince said heavily. He let out a heavy, sorrowful sigh. Lothíriel, on the other hand, remained silent. She had no idea of what to tell him.

"I am very sorry. I did not know", Théodred said quietly and brushed a hand across his eyes.

"It's not of your doing, my lord", the princess mumbled and finally met his gaze. He looked sad, but also somehow compassionate.

"But perhaps I could have done something to prevent it. Only, I fear it is too late now", he sighed and shook his head. Then, ever so gently, he touched her shoulder. "We may be of different worlds, my lady, but I promise I will do my best to make you... content, at least, if not happy. Perhaps that will come in time."

She nodded silently, for what could one really answer to words like those? She could only try and be brave, like him.

The Prince looked like he was about to say something more, but then one of his men called from the stone terrace. Lothíriel hardly listened what it was about, but it sounded urgent. Théodred sighed again.

"I fear there are some things I must attend to. I take my leave, my lady, and hope I will see you tonight at dinner", he said softly. Then he bowed at her and started for the terrace.

Feeling so heavy that it was hard to move, Lothíriel practically dragged herself to one of the stone benches. She sat down and let out a sigh, which seemed to come from the very bottom of her lungs. Why did he have to be such a good man? And why did he have to make her feel like she was the one who was to be blamed for both their unhappiness?

There were quiet steps then, and Captain Aradhain sat beside her.

"Are you well, Princess?" he asked, more out of politeness than actually in the need of knowing her emotional state; she didn't lift her eyes to meet his, but there was something friendly about the man's voice.

"I..." Lothíriel began and sought for words, but there were none. Instead, the lump in her throat was getting bigger and bigger, until she could not hold it back anymore and a muffled sob escaped her mouth. Unthinkingly – or perhaps just not caring – she threw herself against him, burying her face in his shoulder. If her reaction surprised the captain, he did not show it. Instead, he wrapped his arms about her and hugged her close to himself. Somehow, it felt almost as if her father had been there, holding her and comforting her like when she had been a small girl.

"It will be all right", he muttered into her hair, rubbing her back gently.

"I want to go home", the princess sobbed, feeling so weak and beaten and desperate, and she wanted nothing more than to just see the faces of her family again, let them comfort him, perhaps believe everything _would _be fine. "Please, take me home!"

"Of course. Of course. I'll take you anywhere you want", he vowed, the way you do when someone nearly hysterical asks for something.

Gradually, her sobs became weaker and weaker until there was no more tears to be shed, and he offered her his handkerchief; her hands were trembling so he took it back and patted her eyes gently and a bit clumsily, all the while mumbling something kind of incoherent in Sindarin – as if he were taming a wild horse. As soon as she wasn't crying anymore, Lothíriel felt intensely ashamed: to have broken down like that in the front of the captain! On the list of things royal princesses _did not do, _this had to be one of the first.

But Aradhain did not seem too taken aback by her reaction. Rather, he was looking at her quietly, almost as if she was something he had never seen before. He lay his hand on her shoulder, but then a voice called loudly:

"Princess Lothíriel!"

It was Éowyn, and she was standing on the stone terrace, tall and regal as she always was. What she thought of a princess sitting so close to a captain of now mostly departed guard, it didn't show on her face.

Lothíriel stumbled on her feet, trying to grasp for whatever scraps of dignity she could.

"I'm here", she called, hating how weak her voice sounded. "What is it?"

"I saw the prince on my way to the hall and I was wondering where you were", Éowyn said, her voice somehow colourless as her eyes passed between the princess and the captain, who had also risen up to follow his protégé.

"Just... I needed a moment, I suppose", Lothíriel said quietly. Of course the older woman had seen that she had cried, but thankfully Éowyn didn't comment on that.

"Are you all right?" she just asked, her tone becoming more soft and gentle.

"I will be", the princess answered, though she didn't know at which point in future that would actually be true.

* * *

While it not could exactly be said that time mended Lothíriel's heart, the young woman started to feel a little better after a while. At least she began to eat again, and got a mixture from Master Flód to help her sleep. The dark shadows under in her eyes could not be completely chased away, though. And if the princess had been serious before, now she was downright grim. At least she now fit the King's House and its atmosphere perfectly, she thought darkly.

The month went by in a fog for Lothíriel. Most of the time, she let her mind linger under the shadow of comforting numbness. Whenever she found herself free of all work, she would focus on the most ridiculous things – like counting the clouds on the sky or trying to understand the language of the horses. For now, it was a safe place for her, like a dark warm cave that kept out the wailing wind. She would have to come out sooner or later, grow up and face the reality. But she would do that only when she was strong enough to face the storm and winds outside her cave. She would become a good wife for Théodred: silently, she made the vow that he would never find fault in her housekeeping or raising their children.

Yet she could not imagine the children with her or Théodred's grey eyes, nor did they have their parents' dark hair.

In her imagination, her children's eyes were always dark and vivid, and as they ran towards her with their arms wide open, the shade of their hair was that of gold.

* * *

**A/N: **You can have secret engagements all you want, but the reality will slap you back into line sooner or later.

I know Lothíriel is pretty shocked because of Denethor's ultimatum and that to her, he seems very antagonistic at the moment. What she doesn't really understand that from his point of view, she is out of line and she's forgetting her responsibilities. So I don't really think there's right or wrong in this matter, even if Denethor's methods of getting his way are pitiless. And Lothíriel herself has lived a pretty sheltered life, so this kind of treatment would of course leave her beaten.

Thanks again for comments!


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

February 25th: Prince Théodred is slain.

The body they carried back from the battle was bloody and broken, and they brought it with a word of devastating losses. A sense of impending doom was now getting stronger and stronger, and _he _was thinking his time was at hand... maybe closer than ever, for disorder bred more disorder, and in the middle of chaos, he was at home.

He watched and he saw much, especially the smile so brief on Wormtongue's face and the searching look he cast over the crowd that mourned for the fallen prince. Gríma had not forgotten about their little encounter in the darkness, not at all. And though Wormtongue did not know his face, he knew what that look meant.

_The prince can be removed. And there's no reason the princess can't be removed too. _

Perhaps... perhaps it would be for the best if the little princess left this place as soon as possible, for death was a place where even _he _could not reach her.

* * *

What could Lothíriel tell of the sorrow and terror that took hold of the King's House? Of the shouts and tears that were shed for the dead prince when his broken body was brought home? How could she articulate Théoden King's evident indifference towards the death of his only son? What was there to be said about Móna's hysterical attack that demanded three men to hold her down while master Flód forced the girl to drink a sedative potion? What of the men who had barely survived the attack of the orcs, only to be plagued by nightmares of their master and prince falling down again and again, along with the hope and future of the Mark?

And what could Lothíriel say of her own pain for these people she had started to care for, her sorrow for a good man falling, and her own guilt for the flicker of freedom inside her heart?

It was a time she did not want to remember later, but could never really forget. Because that day, when the Crown Prince of the Riddermark fell, she was perhaps more scared that she had ever felt.

What she and Éowyn did was best described with the word "survive". Huddling together, they waited for this storm to pass... if it ever would. She tried to be as supportive for Éowyn as the older woman had been for her during the past two months. The King's niece rarely showed any kind of weakness, but when the news of Théodred's fate were brought, the hurt was there in Éowyn's eyes, along with the tears she would not let fall. She was like the ancient oak, bearing the storms with her roots deep in the earth. But oldest, strongest oaks could fall down too. Who would Lothíriel count on if Éowyn fell down? She could not wait for Éomer to ride to her aid or to chase away the shadows that loomed taller and taller. For all she knew, her betrayal of the promise she had made to him could have turned his love into hate.

What had father said of times like this? That unity was the best defence against such losses? She wanted that to be true; she wanted it so bad, that finally, on the night of the sorrowful news, she knocked on Erfréa's door.

"Who is it?" the girl's voice came from the inside. The princess hesitated for a moment, but then braced herself. No one had ever promised these things would be easy.

"It's... it's Lothíriel. I need to talk with you, Erfréa. Please. Let me explain everything", she pleaded, hoping the desperation in her voice would reach through the veil of hatred Erfréa and Móna had woven so quickly between themselves and her.

Her friend was silent for a long time, and finally Lothíriel sighed heavily, giving up. Obviously the other woman did not want to talk with her. She was just about to turn away when Erfréa suddenly opened the door. Her usual joyfulness was gone, replaced by stinging cynicism.

"What do you want? Haven't you caused enough damage already?" she demanded.

"I was hoping I could try and perhaps repair some of it", Lothíriel whispered. She wanted to turn her gaze away but forced herself to meet her friend face to face. Erfréa sighed and then beckoned Lothíriel to come in. There Erkenbrand's daughter sat down by her bed and looked at the princess in a manner that had most likely been inherited from the mighty warrior himself.

"Well?" Erfréa urged.

Quietly at first, Lothíriel began to tell how she had gradually realized her love for the Third Marshal. She explained what had happened between her and him and how they had made the Promise on the Yule night. Surprisingly enough, it felt good to say the truth out loud instead of just keeping it to her heart as a secret not to be spoken of.

Then she proceeded to the part about Lord Denethor's ultimatum. She emphasized how she had never wanted to marry Théodred and had only given in because she could not risk the lives of her brothers, even though she couldn't tell if it was all just bluff.

"I never meant to try and force myself in the between of Théodred and Móna. I would have been as happy as you to see them together. Please, Erfréa, you have to believe me! You can't think me a heartless traitor after the months of friendship!" she pleaded desperately.

Erfréa was quiet for some time, her hand on her chin and her eyes squinted. The fair-haired woman nodded silently and considered Lothíriel's words for some time before speaking up again.

"I think I believe you. I always thought it so impossible that you would just betray Móna. I knew you were not that sort of person. I knew it, yet I let myself believe that you'd do something like that. It's the poisonous atmosphere here that blackens our minds and turns us against our own. Maybe Wormtongue is putting something in the food", Erfréa said slowly, yet with the hint of her familiar joking manners, and the princess would not have been able to describe just what kind of relief the fair-haired woman's words brought to her; she very nearly sobbed out loud. "Why did you not tell me this immediately?"

"Well, I was not really thinking straight that point. And I suppose I was a bit scared of you two. Scared of what you might say and do... I was not even sure whether you would listen to me", Lothíriel answered said, her voice soft and wary.

"I'd like to help you, of course, but I'm not sure how I can do that. You see, Móna has been my best friend ever since we were little girls on our fathers' knees. Móna is... I think of her more as a sister than as a friend. And she is having so hard time right now, you can't even imagine. I need to be there for her and support her all I can. She's not really thinking straight, either, and you know how it would seem to her if I sided with you? She wouldn't be able to bear that. Not after Théodred. She needs my help more than you do", Erfréa said quietly. She was usually such a careless young woman that it was hard to imagine her to have any deeper side to her. But these words surprised Lothíriel with their insight and wisdom. She could not help but agree with the younger woman.

"I see what you mean and I think you are right. Having you know the truth about what really happened is the best I could have hoped for anyway, and I feel it is much more than I deserve", Lothíriel said. For the first time, Erfréa smiled a bit. With that, Lothíriel broke down: tears streaming down her face she ran to hug the other woman as tightly as she could.

* * *

Understandably, Móna was not as easily won to her side as Erfréa was. Lord Erkenbrand's daughter's heart was like the wind, changing her course at will. Her anger was easily invoked, yet it was also soon calmed down. On that matter, she reminded Lothíriel a lot of Éomer. Perhaps that was why she liked the younger woman so much.

If Erfréa was the wind, Móna was the very bedrock. She moved as slowly as Erfréa flew fast, preserving things from long ago. And once her course was set, Móna was not easily turned back. Erfréa's seething was nothing when compared to Móna's coldness.

For that reason, Lothíriel regarded the mere fact that Móna had agreed to see her as a victory of sorts, and she was fairly certain she owed it in no small part to Erfréa's abilities of persuasion. Nevertheless, when she entered her friend's chamber, the younger woman looked as horrible as the princess had felt and her guilt lifted its ugly head anew.

She told Móna basically the same things she had told Erfréa, with only small alterations. She recited her and Éomer's romance only very shortly and spent a greater part on describing captain Aradhain's message from Lord Denethor. As could be expected, Móna asked the questions Erfréa had not, especially the one Lothíriel herself had been thinking of a lot.

"You have yet to explain why your uncle would even do such thing", Móna said coldly.

"I do not know for sure, but... well, his position is not an easy one. You don't know how it's in Minas Tirith these days, and how desperately they fight not just for Gondor, but all free lands of west. And then there was me, stubborn little girl who had her head in clouds... The truth is, Gondor will not be able to stand alone when the war comes", she sighed and shook her head.

"My uncle is a proud man who takes pride in not having to ask favours of anyone. He does not want to plead to get what he wants – he commands. He would never just send messengers here in Rohan to ask for aid, not at least unless he can have it some other way. That is where I came in his plan, the young unmarried princess. He'd have me married off to Théodred and join our houses. After that, the Rohirrim would be practically forced to help."

"But I was not the pawn he wanted me to be. My heart was already with a man who does not have the authority to call the Mark together to ride to war. Lord Denethor needed to have me in line and do as he wanted, so that he could have his alliance with Rohan. To him, I had become a mere disobedient child who needed to put in her place. So he stroke right where he knew it would hit the best: my family. If he threatens them, however seriously, he knows he has me on leash. That is the only reason I ever agreed to the engagement", Lothíriel said quietly.

"So you claim that you did not only seek the position as the Queen?" Móna asked, suspicious.

"I never even thought of that before! Whenever I would let myself dream for a bit, it was always you as the Queen and me as the wife of the Third Marshal!" the princess answered heatedly.

The younger woman fell silent then, lowering her gaze down. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

"I shall... think of it", Móna said finally.

"That is all I ask", Lothíriel said and suppressed a smile. "And Móna... if you ever need anything... I'll be here for you. I still consider you my friend."

With that, the princess left the room.

* * *

Lothíriel woke up in the middle of the night by alarming rattling by her door. Someone was obviously trying to get in, but the bolt kept.

"Little princess! Let me in!" a voice all too familiar called her. "You have made us wait for long enough!"

For a second, terror almost froze her to the spot. It was that _man! _Her attacker had returned, and he was as determined as ever! But then she thought of an entirely different man, his long golden hair and keen dark eyes and how he would have looked like had he been here right now... and how she was never scared when he was around. That released her from her frozen terror and after grabbing the blade by her bedside, she ran at her bow, pointing an arrow towards the door.

"Do you want to die here, princess? Do you think they won't kill you like they killed your prince? Come with me, and I'll take you to safety!"

Her breast rose and fell quickly, expecting the bolt to give in and the man come rushing through the door. She tried to calm her mind by imagining a menacing dark-faced man in the front of her and a well placed arrow between his eyes.

"If I ever learn your name, I'll write it on my arrow and deliver it to you personally!" she shouted and concentrated on how the bow felt in her hand, how it gave her a sense of security.

_No. She wouldn't die here. _

There were muffled sounds behind the door and then rattling stopped.

She let out a sigh and slipped down to sit with her back against the wall; relief was making her so dizzy and weak that she didn't even try to get back to bed. She was still gripping her bow when she fell asleep.

* * *

Lothíriel was on her way to see master Flód – she was having a major headache from sleeping in a poor position – when she froze on the stone steps of Meduseld. A group of riders was speeding through the plains, like the wind blowing over the grass lands of the Mark. Lothíriel squinted her eyes to see the group better, her heart suddenly beating faster. Did she just imagine it or was there a man with white horsetail helmet?

Her headache entirely forgotten about, Lothíriel stood there waiting for the riders to approach so that she could see better. All the way she followed them with her eyes until they reached the front gate, and her heart leaped: it _was _him! He was returning to Edoras!

A strange mixture of guilt and joy moved in her heart – surely it was wrong for her to feel such joy when her betrothed had been dead for only a day – and she waited. What should she tell him once she'd see him face to face? Would he even want to listen to her?

And then, once again he entered her vision and his magnificent presence seemed to fill the yard of the King's house. From the way her heart was suddenly reacting at his arrival one could have thought he had been away an entire lifetime. If this was the way he always made her feel, she didn't know how she'd been able to live here as poor Théodred's wife... but that was a selfish thing to think of, especially now.

His eyes found her and for a second, the world around them fell away. She wanted to fly down the stony steps, fling herself at him, tell how sorry she was about everything, never let go... And if she could read his eyes at all, he felt the same.

But why would he want to have to do anything with her? If he came near and looked at her, surely he would see what kind of person she was: how she let herself spiral down in despair just because the world was not giving her what she wanted, or how she could still feel such joy at the sight of him when his cousin lay dead?

The Marshal's face suddenly became grim and angry. He tossed the reins of Firefoot to a stable-boy and started for the stone steps of Meduseld. There was weariness in his gait, yet he pursued for a long, quick strive towards the entrance of the King's House.

"Éomer", she tried to call him quietly, but he shot a cool glance at her, the earlier burning in his eyes all gone and replaced by something much colder and darker.

"Later, woman", he said and hurried in. Lothíriel took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

He was angry at her. Well, he was justified after she had broken her word and it was surprising just how much all that hurt. But now was not the time for self-pity.

The argument broke out as soon as he had entered the Golden Hall. Shouts started to become louder in the Golden Hall and suddenly she realized how thin his patience must be wearing. How many years had Éomer, a proud and determined warrior, been tormented by Wormtongue? How much more was the Marshal going to take?

He was demanding for men, he wanted to ride and avenge the death of the King's son. But the King's order was, according to Wormtongue, to stay in Aldburg and await for commands.

"You damned fools! I see there is no loyalty for the Mark left in you spineless cowards!" Éomer's roar came from the hall. Lothíriel shivered; she was outside, yet she could perfectly well sense the storm that was raging inside, to the point where it made the hair at the back of her head stand up... and how terrible and amazing he must have looked, like he usually did in his anger.

The shouting inside fell silent then and the Third Marshal came striding through the doors. His face was more furious Lothíriel had ever seen it.

This had been the last straw.

Even though she wasn't sure if this was the best time to approach him, she still did so; her hand came only very quickly in contact with his arm and he shot a look at her, outraged and pained and full of emotion.

"I'm sorry", she whispered quietly, but he did not answer. His eyes flashed but then he was already leaping down the steps and preparing to leave. Éomer bellowed orders for his men and from the sound of his voice, she knew he was going to do the exact thing he had been forbidden to do.

As Lothíriel watched him jump his saddle once again, a cold feeling came to her: Théodred's death had set in motion things that were much larger than any of them. Something grand and fateful would come out of this, and she could only pray that they would survive it alive.

From east, thunder rolled towards the Riddermark.

* * *

**A/N: **Théodred is gone, but the reconciliation still remains to be seen. To be honest, I'm not too satisfied with this chapter. I've tried to edit it to north and south but it remains something I don't really like. Well, hope you enjoyed it at least.

And, as always, thanks for reading and reviews!


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

After Éomer's departure, a sense of impending doom fell over Edoras. Lothíriel had no gift of foresight, but she could almost feel the approaching storm just around the corner. The enemy moving in the east, orcs swarming from Mordor and even Isengard with Dunlendings attacking the lands – the world of men was in peril. And no wonder that the people of the capital of Rohan felt such despair: Théodred's death had cast a shadow over the future, as if it were just an omen of more horrors to come. For if the House of Eorl was falling, then surely the ending of the world was nigh.

There was no word from the Third Marshal on next few days. Whether he had stayed to guard Eastfold or left to hunt orcs was not known, as no messengers came from Aldburg. Lothíriel could not help but feel bad about their last meeting – bad and confused. It was starting to seem that her life was like a ship without sail on sea, having no destination... and she had no idea where this wind would take her, or if her way had parted with Éomer for good. Sometimes it was depressing yet comforting for her to realize just how small and insignificant her own worries were on the grand scale of things. All she could do was to wait until this tempest had calmed down, if it ever would. And it made her feel so weak and utterly useless that she could not do anything to help.

At least there were Éowyn and Erfréa. The three women gathered together, as if they were lost in dark and could only find comfort and some warmth by leaning on each other. Móna was still not very well, which seemed to worry master Flód very much. There was not really anything wrong with the young woman – not physically at least.

"It is in her mind. I have no way for treating such ailment", said the elderly healer to Lothíriel and shook his head gravely.

As the princess looked around her and saw all the fear and concern for how this all would turn out, a verse came to her from an old lament that spoke of the Rohirrim. Though it was not a joyful verse, it had still been her favourite, perhaps because of how it reminded her of how she always appeared to be fearing and waiting for _him_ in one way or another_._ Something about the exceptional gloom and downright agony in Edoras seemed to reflect The Lament for the Rohirrim.

_Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?_

_Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?  
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?  
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?  
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;  
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.  
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,  
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?_

* * *

Three days after Éomer had left the wind carried smoke and a heavy stench of death from Eastfold. Háma, the captain of King's guard and Móna's father, sent riders to see what burned in such manner. Some of the more grim men muttered how it must be Aldburg burning – that the last good men in the realm had fallen because of the King's weakness. The mere thought of _him_ lying dead on the ruins of his home threatened to turn Lothíriel's blood into ice and haunted her dreams, and she could only be somewhat calm by constantly reminding herself that he was a great warrior, and if anyone was likely to weather these storms, it was him. He would not let the town of his birth be taken down. The arm of the enemy would have to be very long to place such darkness on the old seat of Eorl the Young.

The fears of Aldburg being lost were proven wrong when Éomer rode back on the fourth day along with the riders Háma had sent, reporting to have destroyed a large group of uruk-hai that had been racing across the lands of the Mark. This brought great fear for many, but the Marshal's swift reaction also incited hope, at least until before the day was over. His other news – an elf, a dwarf and a tall man of Dúnedain passing through the country in the search of two Halflings – brought amazement and wonder. How long had it been that one of the Elven kind had walked these lands? When did the dwarves travel with elves? And the talk of Halflings brought even more confusion. It was as if creatures from fairy tales were now roaming the grasslands of Rohan, and the reality itself was turning into a legend.

All the same, the four days that followed could be seen as tidal turning, Lothíriel mused later when she regarded back in time. Those four days were Éomer's downfall and his new ascension.

Everything happened so quickly: the Marshal returned from his high-handed pursuit after the uruk-hai, even though he had been forbidden from doing so, and only ten minutes later, he attacked Gríma Wormtongue for making attempts towards his sister.

The result was something anyone could have guessed. Éomer was cast into the dungeons of Meduseld with no knowledge when and if he would get out.

"Maybe your uncle will release him soon. I'm sure Wormtongue is just trying to press him. Éomer will be out in no time. He's the Third Marshal, after all. They can't keep him behind bars just for doing his duty", Lothíriel assured her friend, but her words did little to console the older woman; Éowyn gave her a weary, joyless smile.

"Don't you see? Wormtongue has my brother exactly where he wants. He won't let Éomer out, not as long as he bears any kind of authority in this place. He'd like nothing better than have my brother rot in the dungeon for the rest of our lives", said the King's niece. "And uncle will not do anything about it... he used to have such high esteem for Éomer, and now he doesn't even care."

"We'll come up with something. You'll see", the princess said and wrapped her arms around Éowyn's shoulders, though in reality, she had no idea what the two of them could exactly do about it. But she couldn't just admit that, could she?

"I should have seen it coming. I should have prevented him somehow... If I'd only known Éomer had come here – he and his damned temper!" Éowyn lamented and covered her face for a moment. Since now, she had always been so strong and unmoving, but the princess felt like the first signs of breaking were starting to appear in the other woman, and it terrified her to think of what should happen if Éowyn failed.

"Princess Lothíriel, just the woman I was looking for", called the voice Lothíriel had become to hate during her stay in Meduseld. She did not consider herself a violent or particularly hateful person, but apparently Wormtongue had a special gift in bringing out the very worst in people.

"What is it?"she snapped, not even trying to pretend politeness, and turned to look at the man. More than anything, she just wanted to punch the him right in the middle of his face, and not just because of the looks he was giving to Éowyn. She felt ashamed for not noticing it before, but now after Éomer's outburst it was actually very obvious when one looked at what kind of expression there was in Wormtongue's eyes when he looked at the King's niece.

"I have come to let you know that you are to leave Edoras by the end of the week. Théoden King thinks you are in no need of his protection anymore, and with the Crown Prince's death, you have no purpose here", Wormtongue answered with an aversive smile.

"Doing a little bit of spring cleaning, are you, Wormtongue? By far it seems to be going rather magnificently! Who are you going to imprison or send away next? Your Master the King?" Lothíriel answered a lot more boldly than she might have in other state of mind. A look of displeasure briefly vacated his face – very few dared to call him Wormtongue to his face.

"You would do well if you watched how you speak, girl", he warned her. "Or is this how the men of Gondor teach their children these days? Far they have fallen, if it is indeed so!"

Though it was perhaps deserved after speaking so contemptuously at him, the words still stung more than Lothíriel would have known, and it took a lot of willpower not to insult the man with some of the more colourful words from her brother Amrothos' vocabulary.

"Oh, I will be _very _careful in my choice of words when I tell of all this to my Father and uncle! I imagine they will be very interested to hear about the state of affairs in this household!" the princess spat, suddenly all her frustration and worry and boiling feelings came pouring out from her to this man, and she couldn't hold back any of it. Wormtongue's eyes flashed, and for a moment she was certain she had gone too far, but then the man's face became strangely wary and he cast a look about him as if he were looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn't appear to find it. Still, when he looked at Lothíriel again, his expression was cold and contemptuous.

"Gondor has no power here. You would do well to remember that", Wormtongue reminded her. It was true of course, but she'd be damned if she'd let him relish on that fact too much.

"We will see about that, my lord", Lothíriel said, lifted her chin and turned to Éowyn. "Come, Éowyn. I obviously need to pack my things before he does it for me!"

With that, she grabbed her friend by arm and strode along with all the wounded pride of a royal princess. And she couldn't help but feel rather good about herself when several Rohirs who had heard the conversation blinked their eyes and gave wide grins to her. Éowyn, on the other hand, didn't look so impressed. Neither did captain Aradhain who had been standing guard nearby, as he seemed to do most of time these days, even when Gailion insisted he could take a watch turn or two.

"You should not have done that. It is not wise to anger him in such way", the older woman said.

"Lady Éowyn is right, my lady. This Gríma is a dangerous man", the captain agreed. "And for your information, if this gets you killed, I am going to be very angry with you."

"I know. But I figured that as long I am going to leave, I might as well do it with style", Lothíriel said and smiled a bit. The captain did not seem too taken by that and as he fell back he shook his head while wearing an expression of someone who had suffered for long, but at least Éowyn's eyes softened slightly at her words.

"You're impossible. And I definitely understand why my brother is so taken with you", she said quietly and shook her head but could not hide her smile.

* * *

It was dark and quiet when Lothíriel sneaked out of her room. She had made sure her blade was near her in case that creepy stalker happened to be around too, but as she listened to the silence, she could not hear nothing at all except for the heavy silence. Most of Meduseld was already asleep excluding the night guards. Luckily she did not come across any of them.

Lothíriel already knew the King's House well enough to know her way around in the dark corridors. Kitchens were not hard to find (she stole a piece of bread, an apple and some cheese, and then hid her booty inside a white cloth), but locating the entrance to the holding cells took a bit longer as in the dim light everything looked somewhat different.

She had never actually been in the dungeons even though she knew which door to use. She had no idea of what kind of place it might be, and whether she'd even find him there, but she had to try. She could not just let him languish there all alone... and, after all, she still had to apologize to him. If she was to leave Meduseld like Wormtongue had ordered, this could very well be her last chance of doing so, not to mention she didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. She had to do it, even if he was still angry at her.

At the door of the dungeons, she lit a candle and started descending the stone steps. The air down there was cool (suddenly she was very pleased with herself for getting a spare cloak for him, even though it would probably be too small). There did not seem to be anyone around, until she noticed a man who was sleeping at the corner that looked like some sort of watch post for the guards. She tiptoed right past him and started then to search for Éomer. She would have called to him had there not been a guard, as she didn't want to risk him waking up before she could find the Marshal. For all of her carefully laid plan, she did not even have a good excuse if she were found here. Maybe she could say she was just sleepwalking (it would not be easy to explain the things had brought with her, though). Then again, she was leaving for home soon anyway. What could they do to her, after all?

The dungeons weren't exactly designed for housing many inmates at a time, and most of the cells were empty; Lothíriel saw only one man snoring away in a small bunk. She remembered hearing there was a more convenient holding place for the criminals down the hill but she had never seen it. The dungeons under the Golden Hall were mostly reserved for high profile prisoners – like the King's nephew, for example. They had confined him into the very last cell behind the corner. There were small barred windows on the stone foundation of the King's House, which let in some of silvery moonlight.

Éomer was not sleeping, of course. He was sitting on a narrow bunk, his back against the wall and his elbows on his propped up knees, staring out of the small window. He was not wearing his armour (they had probably made him take it off when he had been brought here) but a simple tunic and breeches. Ever the alert warrior, he turned his head towards her when she stepped in sight. At first he blinked and looked like he didn't quite believe she was there; as if she was just some dream vision. She smiled and approached the bars, and he quickly got up on his feet and almost leaped to the bars that were between them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion.

"I came to bring you a cloak and some food. You must be cold in this awful place and I just hated the idea of you freezing here all alone... and I didn't think they'd give you anything to eat", she answered quietly and put down her candle. She offered him her "gifts" through the bars. Éomer did not know what else to do than to take the things she had brought with her.

"Precious woman. You never cease to amaze me", he said, shaking his head as he opened the small bundle of food. "Although I think I should thank you. You come to my aid on the strangest moments!"

"Your sister said something similar earlier this day. I took it as a compliment", the princess said lightly. Then she turned more serious. "Are you angry with me still?"

"I am sorry for how harshly I treated you the other day. I was... not entirely myself. The last two months have been a nightmare in every sense, and now my cousin... I shouldn't have directed it at you, but I did" he spoke quietly and ripped small pieces of the bread and popping them in his mouth one by one.

"It's fine. I understand. Did Éowyn tell you the truth? About how my uncle wanted to force me into a marriage?" Lothíriel asked.

"She did. I confess that I did not want to believe it at first... I suppose I was too hurt to listen to her. Of course, deep down I knew you must be telling the truth. You would not lie to me, not after everything that happened between us at the Yuletide. And when I saw you... well, that was when I had to admit to myself that you were telling the truth. Just one look into your eyes and I am undone", he explained slowly. His words moved her and she would very much have liked to kiss him right there and then, and she wouldn't even have minded if a guard had found them like that.

"But you were justified to feel betrayed. In fact, I see myself as a traitor", the princess sighed.

"Nonsense, my love. Do not think such things! You were not betraying anybody – you were just caught up in an impossible situation", Éomer said gently and reached his hand between the bars. She lifted her own hand to meet his, and instantly their fingers entwined.

"My sister scolded me, of course. Told me how much in pain you were and that you needed me. She's a precious thing, isn't she? I seem to be graced with unnaturally many precious things. You and her – you two are the most important people in my life. I do not know what I would do if I lost either of you..." he said very quietly and leaned towards her. Lothíriel crawled closer, so that she could feel his breath on her face. He looked at her very seriously, and asked: "Will you forgive me?"

"Only if _you _will forgive _me", _she answered.

"Anything for you, my love", Éomer whispered. Of course, the situation called in for some making up, and personally Lothíriel thought herself very well and thoroughly forgiven when she started to gasp for air. She had to remind herself not to make much noise.

"I was fool to think I could somehow have managed as his wife. Just a mere sight of you would have brought me down... I cannot imagine worse torture than living near you but without you", she said and traced his face, familiar and beloved and haggard, with her fingers.

"I know what you mean", he agreed and closed his eyes with a soft sigh as he leant his forehead against hers. "I do not know what would have been the worst thing – the fact that you would be so near me but as the wife of another man, or that he who had you was the one I regarded my brother."

"I'm sorry for what happened to your cousin. I really am", she said quietly. He didn't answer that, but just sighed, and she could feel his grief. He had not lost only a prince but also a family member, and no matter what the situation had been before this event, Théodred's death was still a cause of great sorrow.

"Éomer?" she asked suddenly, needing to bring him some comfort at least. He opened his eyes questioningly.

"Yes, Lothíriel?" he answered.

"I love you", she said very quietly. She had never actually said those words to her or vice versa. He held her hands a bit tighter then.

"I love you too, my Princess", he said, his voice almost failing him. He kissed her, but she leant back; there was still the task of telling him she would have to leave Edoras. So she quickly explained what Gríma had told her, and his face became dark at her words.

"That damned man", he muttered in newly ignited anger. "Sending you on your way on a time like this... It would be a suicide with all the unnamed horrors walking our lands unhindered. You can't go home, not now when the land is so dangerous."

"Then what should I do?" Lothíriel asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

"First thing tomorrow, go speak with Éothain. He should still be here in Edoras. Ask him and some of my men to accompany you to Helm's Deep, and he will take you there. Wormtongue does not have such a strong influence there, for he's not yet brave enough to go against Lord Erkenbrand who rules Hornburg now that my cousin is dead. Erkenbrand is loyal to the Mark and he will take you under his protection. Helm's Deep is safe and you'll have nothing to fear there. You should stay there until I can come up with something else or my sister can arrange something for you", he said quickly. She nodded and squeezed his hand, feeling consoled already. The prospect of having to travel back home had scared her so much that she had barely been able to think of it.

"But what if it comes to that I really do have to leave Rohan and go home?" Lothíriel asked. The idea of going back and the distance falling between them vast scared her. As she looked at him, her heart filled with agony as she realized just how painful it would be parted from him like that, with no knowledge of when they might see each other again...

"If that is what it comes to... then you need to go, my love. Dol Amroth might yet prove to be the safest place for you. Don't be scared, Lothíriel. I promise I'll come for you when I can. Just... wait for me, will you?" he pleaded and now there was concern in his eyes.

"You know I will wait for you. Even if I'll have to wait forever, I'll be there", she promised and he held her hands tighter.

"Lothíriel..." he whispered and she felt the desperate need to hold him, but the bars between them would not give way.

"We will always be able to find each other", she told him, repeating her words from that Yule night when everything had seemed so much easier, so much lighter.

"They will have to kill me to prevent me from returning to you", he swore, and there was some more kissing, as only a desperate situation like this could call for. It seemed to console them both and she looked at him, trying to memorise his face for the times to come when their reunion might loom in far away future.

But then something much more darker entered her mind as she remembered something she had not yet told him.

"Oh! I almost forgot! Éomer, that _man, _the one who attacked me back in Aldburg... I think he's here now. He tried to get in my chamber some nights ago", Lothíriel whispered. His face turned into a furious snarl.

"That bastard! If only I'd been there... You shouldn't be sneaking around in the darkness if that _man _is still roaming free", he grumbled angrily. But then he shook his head and regained at least some of his calm. "Even more the reason for you to go to Hornburg. You still have your blade with you?"

"Of course. Éowyn has shown me some moves, actually. If that man ever shows his face, he'll find some well-placed Rohirric steel between his ribs", the princess said, sounding braver than she actually felt.

"Oh, the blessed woman! Thank her for me, will you?" he asked and seemed to be at least partly relieved after hearing that information.

"I will. But Éomer, what of you? I can't just leave you here", Lothíriel said, troubled.

"Do not worry for me, my love. Wormtongue can't keep me here forever and if he tries, I'll come up with something. I'll find some way to freedom. Once I can get myself out, I'll come to see you in Hornburg. Just stay safe until then", he answered and kissed her again.

After a long kiss goodnight, he watched her go and his heart was heavy with worries he had succeeded in hiding from her.

* * *

Éothain was more than happy to help her. Even though his master had been locked in the cell, the warrior was ever loyal to the Third Marshal's commands. Even better, he and his men had been ordered to deliver some supplies to Hornburg, so it was a perfect occasion to escort her there at the same time. He did not even seem to mind at all that Lothíriel had been sneaking around in the dungeons and according to him it was no wonder that she had not been caught; apparently the way things were run in Meduseld left a lot to wish for, and the state of vigilance among the prison guards was just one thing among many others.

"Is he well?" Éothain wanted to know, of course. If anything could be deduced by his face, he seemed to think it a personal insult that the Marshal had been arrested and imprisoned.

"He is fine. Just grumpy and frustrated, of course", Lothíriel answered with a slight smile. Éothain grinned.

"That is Lord Éomer for you! Nothing can take him down or break his spirit", the man said proudly, as if he were talking of his own son. "Go pack your things. I'll call the men – we'll leave as soon as you are ready."

"I need to have a word with Lady Éowyn, and I probably should ask captain Aradhain and Gailion to come with us, too. I don't think they would fare well here all alone. I'll be ready by afternoon", she said and nodded to Éothain, who then left to have the men ready.

The princess did not feel good about having to leave Éowyn all alone here in Edoras. She tried to ask the older woman to ride with her to Helm's Deep, but the King's niece shook her head.

"My place is here with my uncle. I cannot leave him unattended", Éowyn said calmly. "I do hope you had stayed here with us, but my brother is usually right about these things. You should do as he says, and it's probably for the better if you're away from Wormtongue's eyes."

"Your brother asked me to thank you for showing me those moves with my blade", Lothíriel said and offered her friend a smile. "He would make such a good mother hen."

Éowyn laughed at that – a rare sound, like was the case with her brother – and a brief flash of humour appeared in her eyes.

"You know, you should not have been down there all alone. What if someone had seen you?" the older woman inquired.

"I would just have said I was sleepwalking", Lothíriel said and shrugged. Then she giggled, as she felt a bit of humour might do good for the both of them. "It is not like they can imprison me, after all. Although if they did, I would demand to share a cell with the certain Marshal."

"Lothíriel!" Éowyn said and shook her head. "I swear, sometimes you are just like Erfréa. The two of you could be sisters."

"Maybe she is my long lost twin", Lothíriel smiled and then patted Éowyn's arm. "Take care of yourself, will you?"

"I will. You stay safe, too."

The princess also bid goodbye to Erfréa who seemed very unhappy to watch Lothíriel leave. She would very much have liked to come with her, but Móna was still unwell and needed her more than Lothíriel did. The Gondorian princess would have liked to say goodbye to her bedridden friend also, but Móna was asleep and she did not want to disturb the younger woman. Their friendship had shown signs of gradual repair, which had been a relief. In these times, even smallest easement was welcome. Nevertheless, leaving her friends behind was the thing she regretted most about having to leave Edoras.

Captain Aradhain and Gailion were quickly ready. They were eager to leave the heavy atmosphere of Edoras and did not have too many possessions with them, like Lothíriel (she had to leave behind many of her things, but Éowyn promised to keep them for her), and by afternoon they were on their way to Hornburg.

Like the last time she had left the town, Lothíriel stared at the heart of Rohan with longing. She missed the place already and the people in there – especially the man who had been confined to the dungeons of Meduseld. She could only hope they would stay safe and that they would be reunited again.

* * *

Helm's Deep and the castle of Hornburg was a sight to see. It was situated in the very embrace of the mountains and it was considered the safest place in all of Rohan. It was easy to understand that notion, Lothíriel thought: she could not imagine anyone invading this great fortress and she made a mental note of having to write her brothers about it. Éomer had known what he had been doing when he had sent her here.

Hornburg had not been built by the Rohirrim, but the Sea Kings of old; their hand-prints seemed to be all over the fortress. The princess recognized the work of her own people, and it was somehow strange to come across this familiar architecture in this land where things were mostly built from wood. The fortress had come to the possession of the Rohirrim when these lands had first been given to the horselords: the fabled King Eorl the Young had ridden to Gondor's aid in the Battle of Celebrant, and as a sign of gratitude, Steward Cirion had given the lands of Calenardhon to the brave king and his people. Later on, the fortress that lay in the embrace of mountains had been named after now long-dead but still well-remembered King Helm. Almost as soon as they had arrived and Erkenbrand had welcomed them, captain Aradhain excused himself and from the enthusiastic look on his face she knew the man would be well occupied by exploring the castle. Gailion followed after, apparently not because of some interest towards the fortress itself but more because he still did not seem so at home in the Riddermark. The captain's company at least reminded the poor man of their home by the sea.

It did seem a little odd for Lothíriel to see the Rohir warriors go about there. Somehow, they looked out of place. Though it was not by any conscious thought process, she had begun to connect these people rather with wood and warmer materials than stone.

Hornburg was the place where Lord of Westfold dwelt, and soon Lothíriel was presented to Erkenbrand's wife, Lady Léoma, who was the housekeeper of the fortress. Lady Léoma was as tiny as her husband was large, and it was obvious that Erfréa had inherited her fair beauty from this woman. Léoma came across as a calm and dignified woman but on some occasions her joyful spirit, the kind that her daughter had, would sparkle from behind her calm countenance. She was also presented to Erfréa's brother Erkenféran, who took more after Erkenbrand in his height and looks. Their encounter was only very brief, though, as the young man was busy running some errands for his father.

"Welcome to Hornburg, Princess Lothíriel. My daughter writes me good things about you", Lady Léoma warmly greeted the princess.

"I thank you for your hospitality", the younger woman said and curtsied. "Your daughter is a good friend of mine. The months I have spent in the Mark would have been much bleaker without her lively spirit."

"My daughter truly has the gift of spreading happiness to those around her – even more so than I had in her age. It is why I often miss her, but I know she's better off in Edoras than here", Lady Léoma commented with a smile. "I shall have a room prepared for you. In the meanwhile, would you like to join me for a supper?"

The princess joined the older woman gladly, and they made their way to the great hall where the meals were served. When the two women got there, Lothíriel quickly noticed she was hardly the only refugee inside these walls. In the hall, there were many women and children whereas their husbands seemed to be missing.

"They have come there to seek shelter from the dangers that nowadays seem to dwell in every corner of the Mark", lady Léoma said quietly and shook her head.

After a supper, Lothíriel was feeling quite exhausted and she bid goodnight to Lady Léoma. Her room was not big and had even sparser furniture than she had had in Edoras, but she rather liked the open space. She decided to unpack her things next day – today she was just too tired to do anything else than to collapse on the bed and dream of _him. _

* * *

**A/N: **Originally, this chapter was structurally bit different but after I was done editing, it ended up with the humongous word count of over 7000, so I cut away the last part of the chapter. The scenes in it will likely be in the next chapter. However, I feel it left the ending of this chapter kind of awkward but I couldn't see any way to redeem it so that I'd have been more satisfied with the result. Anyway, I hope you liked this update!

The scene of Lothíriel sneaking into the dungeon to see Éomer was actually one of the first things I came up with before I started to write this story. I guess everything more or less grew around that one scene, and I'm actually very fond of it. I hope that I managed to capture something of the sweetness of reconciliation but with uncertainty and fear of what will come next.

* * *

**FlameOfUdun - **Thank you for your praise! :) Glad to hear that you like this story that much. I am honoured!

As for your question... well, I fear I cannot answer that, except say that if Wormtongue and Lothíriel have something in common, it's their stalker. I guess he's a man with little honour but a lot of frustration.

**Talia119 - **Like Éomer hopefully made it clear in this chapter, it was more like he was too hurt and sceptical. I don't think he knew too well how to handle that kind of emotions. And people act irrationally when they're hurt. So while Éowyn's message probably did reach him, I suppose all the happenings of late just haven't made Éomer the most understanding fellow. I'd imagine he's pretty ashamed about that.

**Wondereye - **I'm happy to hear you think so!

**Ortholeine - **Well, you will probably get to see that pretty soon. :)


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Next day, Lothíriel went to ask whether Lady Léoma needed her assistance in something. The princess had gotten used to always having some kind of occupation in Edoras, so idleness and solitude felt uncomfortable. Without her friends, she felt somehow lost and the quiet about her was more _loud. _Furthermore, she hoped that having something to do would ease her concern for Éomer and his sister. The older woman seemed to sense the princess' anxiety and with a smile, she asked Lothíriel to accompany her and see how things were done in Hornburg and how such a fortress was managed.

There had been watchful tension over the Mark ever since Théodred's death, and now it seemed to be coming to an end. Two days after Lothíriel's arrival Lord Erkenbrand rode away and there was warlike expression on his face as he went. Léoma watched her husband and their son go, looking more than just a little grave. And no wonder, for it was half of her family riding away from her towards fate unknown. She could relate to that very well. If there were any downsides to being wife and mother to warriors, it was the fear for their life every time they rode out.

Later that day, when the sun was about to set, a messenger came riding like the very armies of Mordor were on his heels. However, his expression was not that of alarm as he arrived, but enthusiasm... and hope.

"Hail Théoden King, for he is healed!" he shouted as he entered Hornburg, which instantly created awed turmoil in the fortress. People gathered around the messenger, asking questions and wanting to know what was happening in Edoras.

"The three strangers, of whom Lord Éomer brought news, came to Meduseld this day, led by the wizard Gandalf. And the wizard has healed our King! The Lord of the Mark is renewed and mighty as he was before, and shadows dwell in his court no more", the messenger bellowed so that the large crowd around him could all hear. "Ill advisers have been banished and Gríma Wormtongue has been cast aside!"

That roused delighted cries, and Lothíriel could feel her heart missing a beat for relief and joy. Éowyn was safe! And she would not have to leave Rohan!

"Is it true that Lord Éomer saw an elf and a dwarf? And that they were looking for Halflings?" one of the men asked.

"It is. The companions the wizard came with are the same mysterious trio met by the Marshal on plains."

"What of Lord Éomer? Has he been released?" asked Lothíriel, who had succeeded in creeping near the rider.

"He walks free, my lady. And that is not all of it, for Théoden King has declared Lord Éomer his heir! House of Eorl will endure!" the messenger said in a loud voice, and excited chatter filled the courtyard.

Lothíriel almost forgot to breathe for a moment as the awe struck her and realization sank in. Éomer, the heir to the throne of Rohan!

Her heart burst with joy and without thinking, she hugged a small woman who had been standing beside her. The woman did not seem to mind, though, but actually hugged her back with equal enthusiasm.

It was not that Lothíriel was thinking of becoming a Queen. The reason why Éomer becoming the King's heir made her so exhilarated was that now there would be absolutely no reason for her uncle to not let her marry the man she loved. In fact, it would be a favourable union in the political sense. It was just what Lord Denethor had wanted in the first place – only, no bluffing or blackmailing would be necessary.

Lothíriel could not wait until she could see her beloved again and share this joy with him. For joy it was, despite all the darkness and sorrow that surrounded them... perhaps it even grew greater in this time of uncertainty, when light in the world was dwindling. At least in this one thing there was still hope, although there was no telling when and if a life shared with him would be something to be realised in the real world. Yet she clung to it, especially when word of Lord Erkenbrand being attacked by a strong band of orcs arrived. The host of Erkenbrand had scattered and there was no word of him or his son after that.

It was strange, Lothíriel thought that night when some of her euphoria had given way to more calm and serious thoughts, that she should be so happy while a storm so severe was rising. One could sense it so well now: the dark clouds were already gathering and there was no guarantee of things turning out well. There was even a very good chance that Éomer might fall and her wish to spend her life beside him would never be fulfilled. She tried to think hopefully, though, just as she had decided to do on Yule night. For in this time, hope was proving to be the only thing she really did have.

The next morning, Lothíriel woke up when the horns were blown, and she stumbled off to a window to see what it was about. Her heart picked up speed as the guards shouted: "It's the White Horse of Rohan! Théoden King arrives!"

As quickly as she could, the young princess threw on a gown and without even thinking of putting on her slippers, she ran barefooted down to see _him. _Surely he had to be there to accompany the King?

Lothíriel flew down the corridors and stairways, the way down appeared to be much longer than she remembered. Finally she reached the front doors and sprang out. The air was brisk and cool and filled with the noises of neighing horses, but she did not notice the cold.

And then he was there, riding his large warhorse as if he were going to attack the castle on it. When he saw her, he dismounted swiftly and closed the distance between them with few long strides. Neither of them was really concerned by what people would think, and she practically threw herself at him and he caught her in his arms, holding her tight as if he never wanted to let her go (which just could have been true).

"You are safe!" she breathed and clung to him like he was her life-line. He was really there, solid and real and she could smell his scent of mail and horses and wind, and a choking feeling came to her.

"I promised I would be", he whispered back, obviously fighting the urge to kiss her senseless there in the front of his people.

"My sister-son has been on the edge for all of the morning. I finally understand why, Lady Lothíriel, now that the fog of weakness has been lifted from my eyes. You have become a beautiful woman", came another voice then, distracting the princess from her reverie. A tall, white-haired man had come to stand beside Éomer. The change was so grand that she almost did not recognize him: it looked like many of the deep lines on the King's face had disappeared, and his back that had been so crooked was now straight. His eyes sparkled with life and vitality, and he was dressed in a warrior's attire that cast quite a contrast to the heavy robes and furs he had worn in Meduseld. All in all, he seemed to have become another man entirely – more like the one she remembered from her childhood.

"My lord, forgive me! I was just, hmm, so happy to see your nephew", Lothíriel apologized, blushing furiously as she did her best to curtsy at him (but probably it looked kind of ridiculous).

"Oh, it does not matter, child! I am glad to see that my sister-son has found such a love. It gives me hope even in the midst of what is to come", Théoden King answered and gave her a small but gentle smile. Then he excused himself as there were numerous things to attend to, and after kissing her brow, Éomer followed. Only then did the princess notice that the mysterious trio everyone had been talking about was also climbing the stairway, and it was as had been reported: a tall man of Dúnedain, the fair and ever-young elf and the warlike dwarf. Lothíriel did not give them a lot of thought, however, for she had already spotted Erfréa and Móna among the group that had just arrived to the fortress. She ran to meet her friends, amazed and pleased to see the two so soon after their parting. Not to mention how encouraging it was to see Móna finally up and about.

"What are you two doing here?" she asked as soon as she had hugged them both.

"Are my father and brother here, Lothig?" Erfréa asked, however, and her eyes were full of concern.

"There has been no word of them yet", the princess answered solemnly and her friend flinched.

"We heard of his fight against the orcs and that his riders were defeated – I hoped he or my brother might be here, so I wanted to come and see for myself. And Éowyn said we would be safer here than in Edoras", Erfréa explained.

"I am sure they both are fine. They're great warriors and they will come home in no time", Lothíriel assured the other girl. Then she looked at Móna, a bit cautiously. "I take it you are feeling better?"

"I am. I decided I had laid bedridden long enough, and it did not feel right to let Erfréa ride here alone", Móna said. Her voice was quiet and somewhat reserved, but at least she was up and about. That had to be a good sign, Lothíriel told herself though she still felt concern when she looked at her friend.

The joy of her reunion with her beloved and two friends started to fade, though, as the day progressed. All of the women (including Lothíriel) who had any healing skills were gathered together and given orders by the King himself. All the men in the fortress, even the young boys and old men who were no fit for battle, were given swords and shields. The Lord of the Mark was seen inspecting the defences with his men and his strange guests, and the heavy anticipation fell over the fortress: something dark was coming and fate of Rohan would be decided in a struggle that would be remembered for hundreds of years after this day... if there would be anyone left to remember it.

The hour of battle was nigh.

* * *

He had not thought he'd die here in the land of the horselords. In fact, he still planned to avoid that destiny if he could.

But for all his cunning, he could not even come up with a way to avert joining the battle. He was a strong and able man, someone they thought a man of honour even. Someone like him could not easily say no. Even arguing that he needed to stay close to _her _proved futile: the captain of the King's guard told him that the Princess would be perfectly safe in the caves with other women and she did not need him babysitting her.

So all he could do was to swallow his displeasure and hope that at some point, it would become possible for him to sneak into the caves... he even considered taking some minor wound so that he could go and ask for a healer's attention, but if he hoped for the things to run smoothly, he could not be in any less than perfect health.

He'd have to survive the fight... and make it up as he went along. Well, that was nothing new, really.

Perhaps tonight was his chance.

* * *

Master Higeróf, the Master Healer of Hornburg, sent Lothíriel to the caves behind Helm's Deep along with those who could not join the battle: women, children, and those too old to take part in the battle. Livestock was steered there, too, but it was not an easy thing to do as the animals seemed to sense the anxious atmosphere and were reluctant to enter the cave. Éomer also agreed that she should be there of all places. According to him, it was a safer than the fortress as it was easily defended and there were secret passages to the mountains that could be used for escape. She only hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

Afternoon was spent in hurry, as Lothíriel helped the healer Gléawerian (whom Higeróf had placed in charge) to set the first cave ready for the wounded. Beds were prepared, linen made ready, and some broth was placed on slow fire. Higeróf was not sure if the caves would be needed to tend to the injured, but he said it was better be safe than sorry; there was no telling what the night would bring. Lothíriel could very much agree with that.

Despite all the hurry they both were in, Éomer came to see her late on that afternoon. After some desperate kisses, she warned him there would be consequences should something happen to him and that she would not be happy at all if he got himself killed. With serious face he swore he would return to her safe and sound. Then he kissed her in a way that revealed his own concerns and left quickly, and Lothíriel could only watch him go and pray that Valar would guard him during the fight to come.

Healer Gléawerian, who was in charge in the caves, ordered the girls to try and sleep a bit before the nightfall. The night would be long and if they needed to tend to the injured, there would be little time for rest. But in such a tension it was impossible to try and sleep. Lothíriel sat with Móna and Erfréa, telling them old stories from her homeland. By doing so, she was not just trying to calm her friends, but also herself – trying to convince herself that she'd see the shores of her home again. By one silly story of how under some misunderstandings her brother Amrothos had been arrested as a smuggler and her brothers had broken him out of prison, she actually succeeded in drawing a laugh from Erfréa, and even Móna smiled a bit. But when they fell silent, Lothíriel felt the cold hand of dread around her heart. Would she ever see her family again? Hug Aredhel tight, see the face of her father, or laugh with Amrothos about something silly?

A quiet little sob threatened to escape her lips and Erfréa squeezed her hand gently. But no words of comfort were exchanged, for the night loomed ahead dark and only the Valar knew if any of them would live to see the new sunrise.

Their short calm was disrupted at midnight, when the sounds of alarm grew outside. Something that sounded like a distant rumble of thunder echoed out there, and it took Lothíriel a moment to understand what it was. Voices – thousands of them, and the ceaseless thumping of heavy iron feet... she shivered as she imagined what horrifying sight it must have made.

And all of them knew what those noises meant: the fight was about to start. One of the smaller children taking shelter in cavern started to cry, and as the child's mother tried to soothe her offspring down, Lothíriel felt suddenly more than just a little discouraged. She looked at her friends whose faces were pale and equally grave, both looking like someone had died. Which would probably happen in no time.

"If this is it – if this is the end-" Lothíriel began, but Erfréa quickly interrupted her.

"No, don't say that. Don't speak it out loud", the younger woman insisted, and the princess complied. However, she took her friends' hands in her own and held them tight.

Soon it became apparent that the fight outside was fierce and vicious, as the first wounded were carried in – after which there seemed to be no end to the flood of wounded men. Lothíriel had her hands full of work as she did what she could for the injured warriors, and even Erfréa had decided to make some use of her old education by helping out. Móna, on the other hand, would sit with those who could not be helped and trying to bring perhaps some peace on passing. Lothíriel did not know how Móna could bear it; the one thing she had always had found impossibly hard about the healer's job was letting go of those who were beyond the help of the healers, and watching them as they passed away.

The time went by, quick and slow at the same time. The noise of the battle never really ceased, and more men were carried to the cave as the struggle outside continued. The cave itself was filled with groans and wails of the wounded and the smell of blood ever-present. Lothíriel tried to concentrate on what she was doing and not think of her beloved in the midst of the horrors, death on his wake and eager to claim him too.

The tension was not much improved when one of the women in the next cave went into labour. Obviously the stress and terror had started her childbirth, but at least she was nearing the due day anyway, so there was a good chance all would go well. It was the oddest thing: a child to be born in the middle of all this pain and death! The other women had enough knowledge of childbirth to attend to the young mother – the healers would not have time to tend to her with all the wounded men to take care of. However, this child did not take long to be delivered, but arrived with haste, and soon the young mother was holding the babe in the crook of her arm. Some of the warriors who had not been wounded so bad gazed in wonder at the sight of new life struggling to enter the world. The birth also seemed to bring some hope to the people in the caves. Could Valar be so cruel as to let new life enter the world on a moment like this, if their fate was to perish tonight?

Without warning, something that sounded like an explosion came from outside and the very ground under them shook. The sudden noise made many of the children cry and wail yet again. Lothíriel almost dropped the clean linen and the bucket of hot water she had been carrying, and she only regained her balance when Erfréa's hand shot out to steady her.

"What was that?" the blonde woman asked and looked startled and very pale. The colourlessness of her face cast a stark contrast to the blood that stained her hands.

"I do not know, but it cannot be anything good", Móna answered darkly. She proved to be right as soon the opening to the cave started to fill with men, shouting as they rushed (or limped, as was the case with the injured) inside.

"The wall has fallen! The orcs are in the deep!" one of the soldiers yelled, which instantly raised shrieks of terror. Chaos and panic threatened to break out in the caves until suddenly they could hear Éomer's voice bellowing orders. There was something soothing about his shouts, even in this horrifying situation. Maybe it was because he sounded so collected and sure of what he was doing. It was then that Lothíriel understood why it was so easy for men to follow him: it was his ability to create order out of chaos and keep himself under control when others surrendered to terror.

"Close the doors! Close the doors!" he shouted as his men struggled to keep the orcs away. As Lothíriel watched the masses of the abominable creatures swarming just on the other side of the human wall made by the warriors she felt terror filling her veins and she couldn't move, and she was momentarily convinced that all of them would die here.

But again, at least for the time, luck seemed to be with them as the doors were closed and barricaded. Gradually, the shouting and chaos calmed down, though it was not easy to forget that all there was between them and thousands of orcs was a wooden gate.

Only when all seemed to be in something that resembled order, Lothíriel allowed herself to run to her beloved. She flung herself at him, so happy to see him well and alive that she almost broke into tears. And he kissed her like there was no tomorrow – which just might be true – and held her close, and she did not mind that there was dirt and orc blood all over him. After all, it wasn't like she was any less covered in grime and sweat.

Perhaps, if this was the day she'd die, she could do it as long as he was here beside her.

"I promised to come back to you", he whispered after a while, when they both had gained control over their voices. "Although I admit I received some help on that matter."

"What do you mean?" she asked. He turned to the dwarf who had been accompanying the man of Dúnedain and the elf. He had a cut on his forehead and his face was covered in blood, but it did not seem to be a serious wound if anything could be deduced about how there were no signs of weakness on him. Rather, his eyes were glowing with something that could only be called excitement, and he was gazing about himself as if he had never seen a cave before (which was a ridiculous notion, considering he _was _a dwarf).

"Master Gimli! Come meet someone special!" Éomer called and the dwarf approached them, momentarily forgetting about his surroundings. "This is Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. She is my future wife and the most impossible woman I've ever come across."

She made a face at her beloved but smiled when she turned to look at Gimli. Lothíriel curtsied at the dwarf whose eyes were glinting in such a light-hearted way that it was hard to believe that the battle of ages was raging outside.

"So this is the bonny lass that kept Lord Éomer on the edge for all of the morning and good part of the day! 'Tis pleasure to meet you", the dwarf said in a low, booming voice.

"My love, this is Gimli, son of Glóin. He is a mighty warrior, a good friend and a life-saver", Éomer said, bowing his head to the dwarf.

"What do you mean?" the princess asked, instantly alarmed.

"He took out some of the orcs that had crept up behind my back. Without him, it is unlikely that I would be here now", the Marshal answered quietly. Lothíriel instantly wanted to embrace the dwarf and never stop telling how grateful she was for what he had done not only for Éomer, but also for her. However, she wasn't sure how dwarves felt about something like that, so she just curtsied deep.

"I am forever in your debt, Master Gimli! Should you ever need anything that is in my power, you will find your good deed well repaid!" she breathed and squeezed Éomer's hand.

"I am glad to be of use. No young bride should lose their bridesgroom", Gimli said plainly.

One of Éomer's men called to him and he nodded at the two, striding fast to see what the warrior wanted. Lothíriel remembered her manners then and looked at the cut on dwarf's head, evaluating the damage.

"Could I perhaps tend to your wound, my lord? It's the least I can do for you, who have so helped my lord Éomer tonight", she asked the dwarf.

"Aye, that would be helpful, my lady", he answered and she led him over to where her supplies were.

"Don't be so solemn, Lady Lothíriel. We may yet walk out of this cavern alive", Gimli said as she started to clean the cut. "Though I am not certain I'd like to leave this place so soon, for it is a marvel I would not have imagined to find while a battle was raging."

"I wish I could feel so hopeful, Master Gimli", she said quietly. "But it is hard to keep on believing in the middle of all this death."

"Death and the shadow... if I have learned anything at all during the times of late, it's all just a passing thing, my lady. You're too young to lose yourself to despair", the dwarf said. Lothíriel wasn't sure what she should have answered to that, so she fell silent.

When she had taken care of the wound she prompted him to go and get some of the meat broth that had been cooked for the injured soldiers. Gimli gave a reassuring pat to her arm – he might have smiled too, but it was difficult to tell with his beard – and went to get some food (or just gaze more about in wonder).

After a while, when the doors had been barricaded and there really was not anything else to do than to wait, Éomer came to Lothíriel who had been checking on the wounded. She urged him to sit by the wall and brought him a bowl of broth and a piece of bread. He had barely had time to eat anything so he practically attacked his bowl the moment she had laid it in his hands. She wasn't sure how hew as able to eat after the massacre outside; she had found she did not have any appetite after a night of tending to the wounded. But then, he was an experienced warrior who had no time for sensitivities like her.

"You should not be serving me, my love, but resting. You look very tired", he commented after a moment.

"How am I supposed to rest now? When our world is in peril and we all could be dead by tomorrow?" she asked and looked to him with a grave expression. "What do you think will happen? Do we have a chance to win?"

"I do not know, my love, but it doesn't look so good. Had the Deeping Wall lasted, we would have fared better. It seems that all depends on the wizard Gandalf now", Éomer said quietly. Lothíriel nodded and sat silent for a moment, until she finally asked the question that had been bothering her whole day but had not dared to put into words:

"Éomer, what would I do if you died?"

"I will not die, Lothíriel. I promise you that. I have got something to fight for now, and I must say it is the best motivation one could hope for", he answered gravely.

"You could have perished out there had not Master Gimli helped you out", she pointed out and her voice almost broke at that. He sighed and set the bowl down, taking her in his arms.

"I know. Lothíriel... should I not survive this war, I want... I want to know that you are still here. That at least a part of me lives on with you. I need you to carry on... perhaps find new love. And be happy. For me", he said slowly, in a silent voice.

"I don't know if I could do that", Lothíriel whispered, shivering at the mere idea of him dying and her being left to live without him.

"You can. I know it, my love. You are stronger than my mother was, stronger than I am... don't look at me like that. It's true – you _are _stronger than you realise. And I do not want you to end up like my mother did", he said and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. It was somehow painful to look at him while thinking of how easily she could lose him.

"I will not, if you will survive and return to me", she mumbled and closed her eyes. Suddenly the prospect of sleeping seemed very agreeable. Perhaps in sleep she could find a place where none of this darkness existed.

"I will do that. Always", he promised and wrapped a blanket around her, letting her doze off in his embrace.

Lothíriel only woke up when he rose up and put her down carefully, but she was too tired to even open her eyes. She felt his lips on her cheek, which made her smile nevertheless.

"Sleep, my beloved Lothíriel", Éomer's voice softly urged her, and she eagerly complied.

* * *

**A/N: **This was one of those chapters that pretty much wrote and edited itself. In fact, it wrote itself so efficiently that in the end I needed to split it into two separate chapters. What structural awkwardness this might have is because of that, but again I decided the better choice was to split it. Otherwise there would have been this insanely long chapter that had way too much happening in it. Only, now I have about 30 chapters instead of the original 28. I may have to edit very generously towards the end - but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

So, things are looking a bit more hopeful for Lothíriel and Éomer, except they are not. After all, the war is still very much raging and here we get a proper taste of it.

I think the course of battle should go here about the same as it does in canon: Éomer and Gimli indeed retreat to the caves when the Deepening Wall breaks, so that seemed like the perfect place to locate Lothíriel during the battle - and not only because this later gives her some realisations she wouldn't otherwise have. Also, Gimli does save Éomer's life. I must say, writing Gimli is not so easy than one might think so I tried to keep his part as small as I could. That was not because of any disrespect to the character but actually the opposite: I did not feel I really made justice to him.

And, as always, thanks for all the lovely comments!


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

She came back to consciousness after some time, and when she asked what the time was, one of the healers told her it was not yet dawn. She scolded herself for falling asleep – she should have been attending to the wounded instead of snoring away – and as soon as she got up on her feet, she rushed instantly to check if Gléawerian needed assistance. That proved to be unnecessary, as the wounded were mostly stable now, excluding those who could not expect survival.

Éomer was conversing quietly with his men at the door and Lothíriel decided he had better things to do than to coo with her. Then she spotted captain Aradhain and Gailion and was happy to see that her loyal knights had been able to make it for the safety of the cave. Aradhain was unharmed but Gailion wore a bloody bandage over his head and a very sour expression on his face (though she noted that if the man had the energy to be on such a bad mood, it probably meant he was all right). After making sure both men were fine she went to sit with Lady Léoma for a while, as the woman appeared to be in need of some company.

"Are you feeling well, my lady?" the princess asked as she sat down beside the Lady of Hornburg.

"I suppose I am, for most parts. I was just thinking of my husband and my son", the woman said quietly and looked down on her hands.

"I am sure they're both fine, Lady Léoma. Lord Erkenbrand and your son will probably storm here with Gandalf the White and ride down the orcs in no time", Lothíriel assured the other woman and patted her arm.

"You're kind to say that", Léoma said and offered her a tired little smile. "And I thank you, Lothíriel."

"It's nothing", the princess said softly and squeezed her friend's hand.

Their conversation was interrupted when a sound of loud thumping suddenly started. It came from the double doors of the cave, and the meaning of the noise was not lost to any of them: only a battering ram could make such clamour.

"Lady Léoma!" Éomer's voice bellowed and he strode quickly towards the two women, "you know the secret passages, do you?"

"Indeed I do, my lord", the woman said and rose up on her feet. She looked very pale but also steadfast.

"I need you to lead the women and children away. Take them to the mountains and find some safe place for them. You must hurry! I do not know how long the doors will hold", he ordered and Lady Léoma hurried off to look to the civilians. Lothíriel, however, did not make a move, and he took her by her shoulders: "Go with her, Lothíriel. She may yet need your help."

"No! I'm not going to leave you!" she exclaimed. "I took my blade here with me, I'll go and get it... I can help you and fight!"

"Lothíriel, you have no idea of what is behind those doors. You can't fight this enemy – you'll be dead before you know it!" he argued desperately.

"Éomer, you can't tell me to go and leave you behind!" she practically shouted at him, but he didn't seem to understand. How could he expect her to just abandon him?

"Remember what I told you before, Lothíriel. You _need _to live", he told her and gave her one more kiss. "Now go. Go and live, my dear heart."

"Éomer..." she tried, but he wouldn't let her speak.

"_Go. _That is my last word", he ordered and then someone was shouting for him, and he hurried off to the double doors where the thumping ceaselessly went on.

She looked after him in desperation. How was she supposed to do as he had told her? How could she go and leave him here to die? She had watched many a man die tonight – some of them had cried, some had just kind of slipped away... death was just a passing thing, like Gimli had said. And beyond... there was no dying anymore. Suddenly, she didn't feel fear any longer. Not for herself, at any rate.

What she feared was Éomer dying alone in this cave.

"Lothig! Hurry up! We need to go!" Erfréa exclaimed as the girl came running to him with Móna on her other side and both looked terrified.

"No", the princess said softly. "You two need to go. I'll stay."

"But you'll be killed!" Móna breathed.

"I can't just leave him", she told her friends and looked over to the doors where her beloved was already giving orders to the men and heartening for what would soon happen.

"Lothíriel, that is madness! We're not soldiers! You _need _to come with us!" Erfréa tried desperately. When the princess spoke, her voice was calm and determined.

"If you could make that choice – to be with the man you loved on the last moments before he died... stay with him, or run and leave him to his fate... what would you choose?" she asked. Erfréa looked like she was about to argue, but Móna's face had become very serious, and she lifted her hand when her blonde friend opened her mouth to speak. Erfréa saw the look on Móna's face and fell silent, though that did not prevent tears from filling her eyes.

"Do what you must do. The grace of Valar on you, Lothíriel", Móna said quietly, and then the princess hugged her friends tightly.

"Go. Be safe", she told them and they ran after the women and children.

Lothíriel looked after them for only a moment, but then she regained control over herself again and she ran for her blade, which she had hidden under some blankets. Perhaps she was not a soldier and there was not much she could do, but like any proud child of Gondor, she'd go down fighting.

And she ran to her Marshal's side, to the doors where the thumping was getting louder and louder and he was standing with his men, a sword in his hand... Gimli was there too, grasping his axe and prepared to go down with a mighty bang. When Éomer saw her, he looked like he didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or trash her.

"I told you to go with Léoma!" he exclaimed in frustration.

"Shut up! I'm not going to leave you and there's nothing you can do or say to make me change my mind! Do you seriously think I'm going to let you go and face the great unknown all alone?! If you go, then I go too!" she told him furiously, grasping her blade tight. The look he gave her was a glare at first, but perhaps he then saw something in her eyes that convinced him enough to let her stay. It didn't mean that he as pleased, though.

"You bloody dolt of a woman! If we by some miracle survive this, I am going to lock you in your chamber for the rest of your life so you can't come up with idiocy like this again", Éomer muttered, but he still gave her a kiss. "Try and stay behind me when it starts."

"Oh, I will stay behind you, Marshal", she answered and fixed her eyes on the doors before them.

The sturdy gates started to give in then and the voices of the orcs outside grew louder. Yet somehow she did not feel fear. Perhaps it was her fate to die her tonight, but at least she'd fall side by side with _him. _That had to be a better way to leave this life than many other. And to die with the one she loved... surely it was better than live all the years of her life in bitterness, mourning his memory and cherishing a dream that would never become reality? The only thing she regretted was that she could never explain this to her family, or tell them goodbye.

The ram hit the doors again and again, until finally the defenders of the cave could see its head penetrating wood, and as it was pulled back, they could see the orcs swarming outside.

"I love you", Éomer told her and spared her one look, which she answered with a smile.

"I love you too", she said, bracing herself for what would occur next...

And there were shouts of battle and spears thrusting and wood splintering, and from under Éomer's arm, she actually stabbed one orc in the eye. That moment Lothíriel knew something like battle fury, the kind that one can only feel when the prospect of certain death looms ahead. She was not scared, like she'd have thought she would be. But then, she was never scared when she was with Éomer – not even on this night when their lives would end...

But then, as the orcs were starting to push them in, the impossible happened: a thunderous noise echoed from outside, along with horns that had nothing to do with those of the orcs. Even though Lothíriel had never heard or seen an actual army of the Rohirrim to ride to war, she immediately knew there were hundreds, if not thousands, of riders outside. It could mean only one thing: Gandalf the White had arrived. And then there were the shouts: "Lord Erkenbrand! Lord Erkenbrand has come to aid the King!"

So it was, and as her heart beat fast, she heard the sounds of horns of Rohan and she knew they must be flooding the Deep: she could hear the shouts, the horses, the singing men of the Riddermark as they rode to war.

Relief flooded her and she very nearly fainted from the sheer strength of that emotion. Éomer's men gave a great cry and they pushed forwards with renewed will for battle, keeping Saruman's troops away from the cave. The tides were already turning as the Rohirrim practically rode the orcs to ground. She spotted Éothain, who looked beaten and battered and she actually hugged the man and in something like a hysterical fit of laughter, he returned the embrace and lifted her up from the ground.

Everything after that was a bit hazy, especially when Lothíriel tried to remember what had actually occurred after Lord Erkenbrand and the wizard's arrival. She could best remember the relief, the happiness of Lady Léoma and Erfréa as they would not stop hugging Erkenbrand and Erkenféran, and the knowledge they would live to see another day.

And then there were the corpses. Hundreds and hundreds of corpses, both men and orcs. Lives destroyed, families left without their men, orphans to grow up without their fathers... The sight would give Lothíriel nightmares for a long time, and despite herself she felt relief when Éomer grabbed her and whisked her away from the devastation. When she was sure she would not vomit, she got back to tending to the wounded as there were many more in Hornburg.

Stories would be told of that day. Tales of heroism and valour, complete with a fantastic touch when the walking trees were mentioned. Many had lost their lives while others survived. Háma, Móna's father, was not among the lucky ones – the poor girl's anguished cries at the sight of her father's dead body stayed with Lothíriel for many years to come and to haunt her dreams.

But even though so much death and ruin had taken place last night, there was also hope and new life; that was Lothíriel thought when the young mother who had given birth to her son during the battle, was carried out from the cave and the babe blinked when it saw the light of day for the first time.

She could only wish it was not fruitless hope.

* * *

He had a clear plan of how it would have gone if he had just been able to get to her.

First of all, he would have grabbed her and sought one of those secret passages he had heard of... make way for the mountains, and then perhaps head west with her. There, far in the lands of Eriador or maybe Lindon they would be safe for a little while more before the shadow fell, and he hoped that the nearing darkness might even make her comply and give in. And when the darkness would fall there too, he'd take both their lives, for he was a man who would not live in slavery. To himself, he even thought Imrahil might have preferred that option for his child.

But it looked like this idea of his would not easily be made real, for she was surrounded by dozens of people at all times, and he could not avoid the call for battle. Though he was much fonder of his life than any foolish notion like honour, he was a good fighter. He had not become a soldier for nothing.

And the battle fell and he fought along with others, even if he could see no sense in any of it – he had thought they were fighting a lost battle. What was with the Men of the West and their insistence to hurl themselves into a fight they knew they could not win? He'd never understand.

Like he could have told anyone before the battle, it all turned from bad to worse when the orcs somehow made the Deepening Wall explode; with that bloody Marshal and others who could still walk, _he _retreated to the caves. His first deed was to seek her and see the little princess huddled together with those friends of hers. She was pale and covered in grime and blood of the injured. There was still time... they could still make it to the mountains and escape this den of death.

But luck was not with him for almost as soon as they were done barricading the doors, she dashed to the Marshal and there was no way _he _could ever snatch her from under the man's nose... not to mention that the Marshal's presence meant she would have to be dragged away kicking and screaming, and he had no time for dealing with rabid princesses. Seeing how the tall Rohir touched her and held her made his blood very nearly boil and it took all his self-control not to grab his sword and attack the Marshal right there in the front of spectators. Even when she slept, vulnerable and unknowing of how _he _lurked nearby, the Marshal or his second-in-command kept her under their watchful eyes, and _he _knew the damned man would raise hell for anyone who dared to disturb her.

And then, towards the dawn, the battering of ram started.

Foolish little princess! Determined to die side by side her dear horselord... he'd be damned if he left these caves without her, and so he positioned himself close to her by the door. Perhaps, once the battle started, he could catch her and carry her away... in the chaos of the fight, the Marshal would not be able to watch out for her...

But he couldn't whisk her away if she was dead, and that she almost became when a spear was very nearly thrust through her soft little neck. However, _he _pushed her roughly from way, grabbed the spear by its rod and pulled its wielder inside so that he could present he creature to his sword. _He needed to get her away. _

That was what he was quickly planning when it happened: the horns of Rohan, and the sound of thousand hooves as the riders flooded the Deep like a tidal wave. And of course she'd throw herself at the first Rohir that came across her: from the arms of madly laughing but ridiculously loyal Éothain even _he _couldn't take her away.

The battle was won, and with its ending he knew his time had not yet come.

* * *

Even though the battle for Helm's Deep was over, the war was not yet ended. This much became clear on the days that followed the victory over Isengard. Indeed. It was only the beginning of an even larger battle.

The prospect of the next confrontation was already almost on sight, and next day, the Rohirrim would start a long and heavy journey for Minas Tirith. Whatever was the fate of free kingdoms of Men, it would soon be revealed.

With the army of Saruman completely destroyed, Théoden King could call the Rohirrim to war with calm mind. The wizard had been locked up in his tower where he was watched vigilantly by the Ents. As such, there was no possibility of him waging war on Rohan again. Lothíriel would never have believed that the stories about Ents were actually true had she not herself seen some of the trees moving.

And now it was the night before the King and his troops would depart and ride for Dunharrow... and from there, to a fate unknown. Éomer would go with his uncle and she might never see him again. The mere idea made her heart ache painfully.

That night, Lothíriel did not bolt her door – something she had not forgotten to do ever since after Aldburg. Perhaps her forgetfulness was understandable in the light of all things that had occurred. So, as she stood by window gazing to the night sky, she suddenly heard the door opening and then closing. But her heartbeat remained calm even though she did not turn, for she knew the presence that had entered her room. It was the man she loved and Lothíriel would never be scared when she was with him.

Quietly she watched the dark heavens and spotted Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. There was Eärendil, sailing the night skies on his eternal mission to bring hope for the peoples of Middle-earth. Was he looking down here and seeing all the devastation of war?

Her thoughts were interrupted as her beloved came to stand behind her, taking her in his arms. Closing her eyes, Lothíriel leaned back and allowed his warmth envelope her completely.

His chest was firm and solid against her back and she felt like his arms around her could keep away anything. Suddenly, a powerful sense of _belonging _came to her. This was perfect. This was where she was meant to be.

After a moment, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. He looked down at her with the tenderness that made her feel the most important person to ever exist. Sweet Elbereth, how she loved this man!

And tomorrow they were to be parted, perhaps forever. He would ride with his king and his men, and who knew whether he would ever return alive? This might very well be the last night they'd ever have. From the look on his face, she knew that was why he had come to her tonight... to tell her goodbye properly, in case they would not meet again in this life.

Her hand traced his face, his beard that was in the need of some trimming, his weather-beaten cheeks... She tried to memorize everything, so that if he should perish, she would still be able to remember how he had looked when she had last seen him.

"Are you scared?" she asked as she rested her hand on his cheek. He thought about her question for a while, placing his hands on her waist.

"Not yet, I suppose. What we are going to face... it sounds something out of nightmare, and it is hard to imagine. I've long since realised that it is no use to worry for battle beforehand", he answered at last.

She looked at him and there were so many things she wanted to tell him, but suddenly, she could not find her voice. He kissed her forehead gently, and he looked like he understood. He took her in his arms and held her close in an attempt to bring comfort to them both. Lothíriel closed her eyes and wished away the sadness... for if this one night was all they had left, she could not waste it by moping.

"I love you, Éomer", she said softly. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know that. I see it every time I look into your eyes. And I love you too, my dearest princess", he answered, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"Stay with me this night", Lothíriel pleaded quietly. This came to her impulsively, but as soon she had uttered those words, she knew she needed him to stay.

"You know I should not", he answered, though his voice was tender, and just looking into his eyes she could tell he wanted to be with her just as much as she wanted him.

"I know. But what does it matter? You're the one. I will marry you when you return, or no one else. Just like I promised. Please, let me have this one memory of you to keep with me... so that if you do not return, there will still be _this_. Éomer, if this is the last night we have, how would you want to spend it? Let _me _give _you _this gift", the princess whispered. And as she looked at him, she could see him yield, and the need in his eyes became almost too much.

"Lothíriel... min léofe..." he whispered in his own language. He took her hand and placed it on his heart. "Min heorte, min sáwol!"

With gentle fingers, she began to undo the fastening on the front of his shirt. Once she was finished, he lifted the garment over his head, and the moonlight illuminated him so that it looked like his skin was pure silver. He stood in the front of her, searching her eyes for any sign of uncertainty. But she placed her hands on his shoulders and leant on him as she tiptoed to kiss him. He pulled her against himself, tasting those sweet lips of hers... and then she pulled back a bit, and suddenly her nightgown pooled by her feet. She was there, right in the front of him, this beautiful woman whom he had adored for so long. His heart ached for her, and it was at the same time painful and exquisite feeling.

Kicking his boots away, he stepped on the cool stone floor and approached her slowly, as if moving too fast could scare her away from him. Carefully he lifted his hand, placing it on her shoulder. Her skin, pale and creamy, was the finest of silks under his fingers, and her eyes were shining to him invitingly.

He decided he would never get tired of touching her skin. Over and over his hands would travel, inspecting every curve and memorizing the feel of her. And her hands felt his arms and back and his sides, tracing the old scar-tissue here and there with tender touches. Timidly at first, she embraced him, her breasts pressing against his chest... but then she became braver and he could feel her relaxing. He kissed her and she answered his affections with passion that matched his own. Inside him, the ache got stronger until it was roaring like a wildfire, and he wanted nothing more than just be united with her forever.

Gently, he lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. The princess was a light little thing and he liked how perfectly she fit there, in his arms.

Lothíriel gazed up to his face, bathed in silver. This night, he was beautiful and young and strong and alive and he was with her, and no matter what the future would bring, they would always have this...

After taking off his breeches, he joined her in bed. She was looking at him such trustful eyes, gentle and adoring and _she loved him _and he was certain he was the happiest man on Earth. Carefully he leant down to kiss her and her arms wound up around him until they settled on his neck. He wanted her so bad, he had never wanted anything else as much and as desperately as he wanted her, and for some incredible reason she wanted him too... He had never expected to experience something like this with any woman and least of all with her, yet here she was, the deepest desire of his heart... how many years had he spent dreaming of her, of life and love he had thought they would never be able to share? And now she was here, with him.

Their kisses grew heated and their caresses desperate, and he was feeling he would die or go mad, but then she looked at him, her eyes full of warmth and love, and at last they were one, and she was there and she was with him, and he did not know where he ended and where she began, because she was such an integral part of him, had been some time now and he could not lose this, he could not lose her...

And finally, he could hear her calling his name, her soft and beloved voice pushing him over the edge until there was only _this, _the two of them, the silver light of moon and their hearts beating together in time.

* * *

**A/N: **Min = my, mine

léofe = beloved

heorte = heart

sáwol = soul

I did the best I could with translations, but I might be wrong about them and would be delighted to receive feedback from anyone with knowledge on Old English.

A lot of Lothíriel's actions in this chapter stem from the sheer uncertainty of the situation. She's definitely not so smart to insist on staying with Éomer when she should escape with the women and children. But she's not a Rohirric woman, who would know to do that in this situation. Though Lothíriel is a daughter and sister to warriors, war has never really come this near her... and there's the matter of Móna, too. She has observed her friend's grief over Théodred's death and I think she fears that fate even more than she can tell. So, after the pressure and the stress of the night, she makes the choice of staying with him. And due to Gandalf and Erkenbrand's arrival, she never has to pay the price of making that decision.

Similar motivations lead her to ask Éomer to stay with her for the night. I don't think it's something she'd do in her right mind (though I doubt it's something that will cause her regret) - she is, after all, a princess. But like she asks Éomer: if this is the last night they have with each other, what is the best way to spend it? And he's enough under her spell to give in - and he does want her very much - though he probably fears he is doing something wrong. However, in this situation, it's not easy to say what is right and what is wrong. Not to mention she is probably very irresistible for him after all the years of thinking that she is something he will never have.

* * *

**BlueNynaeve - **And here it is! Hope you like it. :)

**Anonymous - **Thanks for pointing that out! I'll try to fix that in future. I suppose I'm starting to become blind at my own text. :D

**Talia119 - **I fear there won't be a royal wedding quite yet, though that does give me ideas... Thanks for your comments!

**Ortholeine - **I try to follow the book canon where I can (for example, in the movies Éomer was banished from Rohan and it was him who brought the Rohirrim to the battle along with Gandalf). It should be about right, I think, but I admit there's bit of movies thrown in every now and then... my Éomer is more or less based on the portrayal of Karl Urban in the movies.

**wondereye - **Thank you! :)


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

It was still hours before sunrise when he entered the chamber with a murder in his mind.

He had heard it all, of course. He had heard because he had been just outside, and not one moan or little whisper had escaped him. And each sound of passion had filled his heart with hatred; he had very nearly barged in then and killed them both. But there was fight in the Marshal, and one could not be too careful when one planned on ending a man like him. Not to mention the damned Rohir would defend his lover like the most furious lion.

And so he had waited and waited, until the sounds in the chamber died and he knew they were asleep.

The room was dark except for the light of moon that streamed in from the window. Clothes were scattered on the floor of otherwise tidy chamber. And there on the bed on the other side of the chamber, nestled in each other's arms, _they _lay. The Marshal slept on his side, his back pressed against the wall, and the princess was curled up against her beloved horselord's chest. The Marshal snored softly and he had wrapped one of his arms about her. Someone with gentler heart might have even thought that the way her nose was pressed against her lover's neck was endearing, but _he _felt only anger.

Still, the horselord was a warrior, and probably slept like one too. So _he _moved as quietly as he could, creeping towards the bed and unsheathing a dagger so slowly that no hiss of metal was audible.

It was so easy. Neither of them would know anything before he had already done his dark deed. Feeling grim satisfaction, he lifted up his blade and prepared to strike. He just needed to bury the dagger into the Marshal's neck, and it would be over...

But then the princess stirred, as if she had sensed through her dream that someone was looming over her. She did not open her eyes, though, but she spoke: "What time is it?"

Her voice was rough and sleepy, as if she were not completely awake. Well, she didn't _look _like she was in full consciousness.

"Not yet dawn", _he _answered before he could stop himself; however, she did not seem to even realise it was _him _and not her dear Marshal. She sighed softly and snuggled closer to the sleeping man.

"Mmm. I love you", she mumbled and slipped back into dreams.

_He _stood frozen, and his hand that held the dagger quivered. Just like that, his resolve had dissolved. He lifted his dagger again, but found that he could not do it. He could not kill the Marshal when _she _was there, sleeping and looking so sweet and vulnerable... cursing himself, he put the dagger away. It appeared that he had suddenly become a woman, for never before had he doubted before taking a life.

Quickly he pushed that thought out of his mind and told himself it was because murdering the sleeping Marshal would only ever end badly. Logically thinking, there was no way he could do it without waking her. She'd scream bloody murder the moment she saw what was happening – in doing so, she'd alarm each and every guard in the fortress.

And even if _he _managed to escape, what good would it do? She'd be sent back to Dol Amroth – heavily guarded, no doubt – and his chance would probably never come again... and the Rohirrim would leave no stone unturned when they sought for the man who had murdered their beloved Marshal and heir to the throne.

_No. _He would not take the horselord's life, even if that would have given him immense satisfaction. He'd leave that task for what shadows the Marshal would meet once he'd ride into war, for there was no way the man would return alive... and _he _would stay here, biding his time. For when the Rohirrim would depart, every able man would go, and there would be few left to guard _her. _True, the fruit would not be as sweet as it would fall into his hands, but no matter what the foolish Marshal thought, she would be _his. _And no one would find him and her in the vast lands of Eriador.

With that he took his leave and sneaked away from the chamber as quietly as he had entered it.

* * *

The morning was bleak and the skies were covered with dark clouds when Lothíriel bid farewell to the man she loved. Éomer had left her chamber before sunrise, dryly telling her that if he was seen emerging from her rooms at such an hour, her father would have his head. That was probably true and she had let him go, even if that had been very hard; his place was, after all, with her (at least in her opinion). Éomer had seen the look on her face and he had kissed her gently, telling her that a morning would come when he would not have to leave her anymore. But before that, there was work to be done.

On breakfast, she had sat next to him (Éothain had eagerly given up his place), but they had not talked much. In fact, Lothíriel had felt her voice had left her... she had not eaten much but rather spent the entire meal just watching him.

And now he was about to go and leave her.

His face was serious as ever as he held her for a long time, again dressed in his armour and ready for yet another battle. She did not want to cry – she knew she had to be strong for him now. If she broke down and let her tears flow freely, he would only worry for her more. And he needed to be fully concentrated on surviving the war.

"Do not fear. I will return to you, my love, and then we can finally start our lives together. I will speak of our marriage to your father as soon as I meet him. I am sure he will approve of it, and we can marry after I have returned", he said soothingly, but Lothíriel got the feeling he was trying to calm himself down just as much as he was attempting to bring some peace to her.

"Just... be careful. Don't do anything rash and stupid. I will wait for you here, no matter how long it takes", she whispered.

He kissed her and held her to him for a long time, until the horns were blown and his uncle called him from the yard.

"Now, please smile a bit for me. I'd rather leave with the memory of your smile, not that grim and sorrowing look", he pleaded as he took a step back. It took most of her willpower, but somehow, Lothíriel was able to conjure a genuine smile – remembering the last night helped with that, at least. Her smile brought a similar expression on his face as he let his arms fall from around her, but she grabbed his hand, just so that she could feel the strength of his hard, calloused fingers against her own for one more time.

"I love you", Éomer insisted, passion colouring his voice. "And I will come back."

"I love you too", she said weakly, stubbornly holding on to his hand when he started for the group down by the steps. She still extended her hand towards him when his fingertips passed from her grasp, and when he was from her arm's reach, she let her hand fall with weariness. He descended the stairs, putting on his helmet. Erfréa's arm found its way around her shoulders and she leaned towards the other woman for support. Poor Erfréa, only having desperate and sorrowed women as her friends these days!

Her beloved gave her one last look, and then his uncle's horse shot forward. Firefoot followed right behind the King's horse, and suddenly he was gone and the Princess of Dol Amroth was left with nothing but waiting.

* * *

"Are you all right?"

Erfréa's voice finally brought her back to reality. The riders were now long gone, and even the sounds of their company had disappeared. The long wait had begun, but at least she had not been left to endure it alone. She looked at her friend, who gazed back with a concerned look on her face. Suddenly, she felt intense sense of affection for the blonde Rohir woman.

"I don't know. I suppose I will be in a moment", Lothíriel answered softly.

"You cannot let your spirits go down. I do not want to see you become like Móna", Erfréa said vehemently. "Lord Éomer is a fine warrior. He will return to you in no time and you will be there and say 'Good gracious! Were you not supposed to be waging war, not woo women?'"

Lothíriel would never have believed it, but this time, Erfréa's joking voice actually held some sort of desperation. The princess realized how hard this must be for the other woman when both her friends were so downcast. She remembered her decision to hope – she could not fail herself, and least of all Erfréa. Her friend needed her support as much as Móna did. She needed to be strong and put aside her own concerns.

"You are right. I am sorry for being such a crybaby", Lothíriel apologized as the two of them returned inside.

"Oh, it does not matter. You have every reason to feel like you do", Erfréa answered. "Not that I think he will not make it. If anyone will be able to survive this, it is him."

Lothíriel nodded as they made their way towards Móna's chamber. The poor girl was utterly devastated by the death of her father, losing him so soon after Théodred. It had not been a good year for her, anyway; Móna's mother had passed away just last spring.

"He seems to love you very much. I think I'm a bit jealous, to be honest", Erfréa said when they were climbing the stairs.

"I love him very much, too. More than anything", Lothíriel said quietly.

"I should have seen the moment I saw you two in the same room. It's actually pretty obvious when one looks at the two of you", Erfréa said, smiling softly.

"What do others think? I mean, is it proper for a foreign princess to come and steal the heart of a renowned Marshal?" Lothíriel asked.

"Oh, people seem to think it's so sweet! It is like some old story come alive. People like to see something like that happening, especially when the times are... well, what they are at the moment. It gives hope, you know. Of course the ladies will be disappointed when they realize that the future king reserves his heart for you, but they just have to accept the defeat", Erfréa said and grinned.

Their expressions sobered, though, when they reached the door of Erfréa's chamber, where Móna was staying for now. It did not feel right to enter this temple of sorrow laughing and joking. Lothíriel gave Erfréa a comforting pat on the shoulder, and then they stepped in. Suddenly she wished Éowyn was here with them – there was something calming about the older woman's presence, like she always knew what to do. With couple of past two day's tension, Lothíriel had barely had time to even think of her friend back in Edoras, but she hoped she could ride to meet Éowyn some day soon. It felt like such a long time since she had last seen the older woman and she found that she actually missed Éowyn's presence.

Móna was asleep now, after a troubled night of dreadful dreams. Erfréa had stayed with her friend, of course, and Lothíriel felt guilty for having a night of beautiful dreams and love while Móna was in such a poor condition. They sat down, conversing so quietly it would not disturb the sleeping woman.

"Do you think she'll get better?" the princess asked.

"I do not know. I hope so, at least. It is so devastating to see her like this... It is not fair for her to go through so much pain", Erfréa sighed and shook her head. "She's a gentle soul. Sometimes I fear... I fear that we may yet lose her."

"We won't", the princess said quickly, though she wasn't so sure about that. Looking at her friend's sleeping face, she felt a cold hand grip her heart.

"How is your mother?" Lothíriel asked then, feeling a change of topic was needed.

"She seems to be fine. She worries, of course – Father is not exactly young anymore, and the responsibility to look over the Mark isn't light one. It's not easy for him to be left behind, even though he knows Théoden King wouldn't have trusted the task of guarding our home to anyone else. And Erkenféran... well, we knew there was no way he would stay behind when the other men rode to war with the King, but it's hard for all of us. Especially Father, because it's the first time my brother goes to battle alone. I know we should trust him to be able to handle himself", Erfréa answered and a troubled look briefly vacated her face.

Móna began to move restlessly then, mumbling in Rohirric with a voice so low Lothíriel did not really understand what the other woman was saying. It sounded agonized, though, and she thought she recognized Théodred's name in the middle of unintelligible speech.

"Móna? Móna dear, wake up. It is only a dream", Erfréa called her friend and took a hold of her shoulders. She had to shake the sleeping girl rather strongly before Móna woke up, shivering.

"Would you like to have something to eat? I could go and fetch something for the kitchens" Lothíriel asked gently when her friend had calmed down a bit. Móna simply shook her head.

"You have to eat, dear. You can't go on with just air and water to keep up your strength", Erfréa reminded her.

"What for?" Móna asked darkly.

"If not for anything else, then for us", Erfréa answered, her voice both unrelenting and soft at the same time. "We do not want to lose you, not now when so many have lost their lives."

Móna sighed and nodded.

"Well, I guess I could at least try", she muttered. There was bit of life in her voice now, though not in the way there had been in happier days that now seemed so far away, but it was a hopeful sign. With a smile, Lothíriel went to get food for the younger woman.

Perhaps there was a way out of this dark for Móna.

* * *

Couple of days later, Móna was up and about. It made Lothíriel and Erfréa feel much better, especially when the girl's appetite seemed to be returning, too.

There was still much to be done in Hornburg, of course. Those wounded in the Battle of Helm's Deep needed attendance and care, and on Master Higeróf's request, the princess decided to stay in the fortress a bit longer so that she could help out in tending to the wounded. After all, currently she was of more use here than in Edoras. Once Higeróf deemed her aid was not needed anymore, Lothíriel would return to Meduseld and wait there... for whatever end there would be to this war.

Lothíriel was happy to bring Móna with her to take care of the injured men; she remembered well the lesson of having things to do when one was burdened with sorrows. She tried to keep up happy countenance for her friends and for the men she helped to care for, even if she never really stopped worrying for all the significant people in her life that were now more or less endangered.

Éomer was of course in her mind, but so was her family. She had not received any letters from them ever since the two that had arrived on the week after Yule. This was unsettling as she did not like this state of ignorance at all. Of course there may very well have been more letters, but she wouldn't have been too surprised to hear if that was somehow Gríma Wormtongue's fault. Were her brothers and father all right? How was Aredhel doing? She remembered the stories of _palantíri _and dreamed of possessing one, so that she could watch her family and be assured of their safety. She knew that her father and brothers would be there when the storm would break out in Gondor – they would never stand back if their home was in danger. And Aredhel would be left in charge of things in Dol Amroth... at least she had Aunt Ivriniel there to keep company. All Lothíriel could do was to write letters for them and hope for a quick answer... well, at least as quick as it was possible in these times, for her correspondence with her family was hardly the most pressing matter in the realm.

She even thought about travelling home, as she felt she'd be needed there once the war progressed, but eventually decided against that idea. For one, she couldn't possibly ask for men to escort her home, as they all were sorely needed here, and even though she had complete faith in captain Aradhain and Gailion, it would have been too dangerous for them to travel alone.

In the end, for all her worry, she could only wait. How frustrating it was, not being able to affect the course of things at all!

Captain Aradhain had fallen grim and silent ever since Théoden King and his troops had left Hornburg. Most of the time, he looked like he was thinking of something bitter, but he would not talk of it even though Lothíriel tried to ask if all was well with him. Finally she decided he must be frustrated too, being left here to attend to her while he could be riding to battle with other warriors. Or perhaps he suffered from homesickness, which was entirely possible too.

Hopefully, once Éomer had asked for her hand and her father had consented, the poor captain would be able to go home, and all this darkness would finally pass.

* * *

When Móna suggested for them to go out for a ride, Lothíriel was more than happy to comply. Not only would fresh air do well for all of them, but it would also help in getting the good captain out for a while. Hopefully that would cheer him up a bit.

Including captain Aradhain and Gailion, two elderly Rohirs came to escort them. There were not great many men for most of them had ridden with the King. With the armies of Isengard wiped out, it was unlikely they would come up with foes on a riding trip, anyway.

The day was bright and sunny with the scent of spring in the wind. It was a perfect day for a ride on the plains. Móna had suggested they take some food with them so that they could dine on some agreeable place, so they wouldn't have to return Hornburg when hunger began to pursue them. This sounded like a good idea to all the participants, so the group packed some food and drink in their saddlebags and left the fortress laughing and talking. After so much strife, it felt good to leave their daily concerns behind for a bit, no matter what danger lay ahead.

Perhaps it was because of this atmosphere, so light when compared to the darkness that otherwise seemed to hung upon the world, Lothíriel did not realize something was wrong for the longest time. For her, this was just a refreshing outing to cheer up her friend and the captain, after which she would return to work among the wounded and wait for news on her family and her beloved horselord.

Her suspicions started to rise, however, when Móna wanted to keep on riding forth towards North – which still was not the most secure way to travel, even if Saruman's forces had been defeated. Afternoon had already turned into evening when the princess rode beside her friend.

"Don't you think we should return? It will be dark soon", she said cautiously, not exactly liking the idea of having to ride in dark. Isengard may very well have fallen, but who knew what other evils lurked in the shadows of the night?

"We cannot turn", Móna said, unrelenting.

"Why not? There is nothing on these plains", Lothíriel pointed out.

"There is. There is the cure", her friend insisted. Her face had suddenly become very determined and steadfast. In her eyes, there was a strange, feverish light burning and it unsettled the princess.

"The cure? For what?" Lothíriel inquired, becoming even more worried by the second.

"For Father. For dear Théodred. And for Mother", Móna said, gritting her teeth. "And the wizard has it. Do not fret, Lothig – he will give it to us and then we will bring back all the dead!"

"Móna, there is no cure for death. Your parents and Théodred have long since left the circles of the world", the older woman said as gently as she could, dread filling her. Why was her friend speaking of such mad things? However, her friend's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and pain.

"You are lying! You only say that because you want me miserable for the rest of my life while you parade around with your King!" Móna snapped.

"I have never wanted anything but all the best for you!" Lothíriel tried, growing more and more frantic by the moment.

"If that is true, you will follow me and help me get the cure!" her friend nearly shouted. Then she urged her horse and it started galloping into the growing shadows of the evening, as if she could reach Isengard this very night.

The princess dug her heels in the sides of her poor horse, chasing after the younger woman in a desperate attempt. She could hear the shouts of alarm behind her and she hoped that the others would ride after them – there was no time to stop and explain what was going on. If she did that, Móna might get away from her sight and disappear to the endless plains of the Mark. And if that happened... who knew what would happen to the poor girl? So she rode, praying to Valar that she might reach her friend before it was too late.

She did not know how long she chased after the younger woman. For all her riding lessons, she still could not catch a woman of Rohan on horseback. Several times she tried to call Móna by name, but that did not seem to have any effect on the crazed rider. From the way it seemed, the sorrow and losses Móna had suffered over the past year had finally driven her over the edge to the abyss. Even though she had appeared almost normal for past two days, it probably had been some kind of show – Lothíriel had once heard from Master Berianir how the unbalanced could sometimes appear as reasonable and normal as the next person.

The night fell on the lands, casting shadows on the great grasslands. The sky was covered with clouds, so there was little light from the moon. But Móna's shadow loomed just ahead and Lothíriel urged her horse on, though her hope waned with the day.

The attack came in the dark, the first and only alarm being the arrow that penetrated her shoulder. Lothíriel gave out a cry, both for the pain and surprise. She could not tell who the attackers were for it was too dark, but she did see dark shapes moving towards them. Where was her bow when she needed it?

Móna was lost in a blink of an eye. The princess could only hear a soft moan from her and then she fell from her saddle; Lothíriel could see someone had shot an arrow through her throat.

"Móna!" she screamed and rode towards her friend, but it was already too late. Such a fatal wound always caused death. Although her reason told her there was nothing she could have done, that her beloved friend had been gone the moment she had let her mount madly gallop away, Lothíriel would never forgive herself for not being able to prevent it.

And then, before she could dismount and fly to her friend who was now lying on the ground, the chaos broke loose as dark shapes swarmed around her, which startled her horse into a wild gallop. It was dark, and she did not know where she was riding, and she could only think of Éomer and her family and how she could not die here. Her horse galloped as if all the evils of the enemy were after them, and though she tried to calm her horse down, it didn't even seem to care for her commands. She could only try and stay in the saddle, though it was hard with the pain burning on her injured shoulder.

Where was her poor crazed animal taking her? She could not hear others' voices, nor the noise of a battle that was likely taking place. She should not have ridden away in such manner! She should have stayed, should have remained with Móna, there must have been some way to help the girl... Oh, why had she not seen just how sick her friend was?

Finally, when they entered a small pass between two steep hills, she succeeded in making her horse to stop. She had to let the animal rest for a moment before doing anything. Perhaps, if she stayed here, someone would come across her! She thought of shouting, but her throat was already raw from desperately calling to Móna. And anyway, her shout could have attracted foe just as well as friend. Fear and despair were threatening to take over her: how would she ever find her way back? There was nothing in her sight but endless grass plains!

Then she remembered – if that was the correct word – the arrow on her shoulder. It was throbbing with pain, but at least she had not lost much blood. Gritting her teeth, she pulled it out as carefully she could, but it still made her eyes water. When the arrow finally was out, she let out a hoarse shout. At least the wound wasn't bleeding so badly, but she still ripped a piece of fabric from her skirt to dress it; just to make herself feel more secure, she thought how she'd later ask Master Higeróf to treat it properly. She also thought of Móna and tried to convince herself that her friend would be all right... but actually thinking of that made it even more painful: the ugly truth was that the poor girl could not have survived.

Trying to calm herself down, she pressed her face against the neck of her horse. The animal's warmth was comforting and she concentrated on it. She couldn't lose herself to despair now. Perhaps she should try riding back the way she had come... there must be some land marks to guide her back to her friends...

She did not know how much time went by until she suddenly heard the neighing of another horse. A dark shape was riding down the hill from the direction she had come herself, and the stranger could very well be an enemy.

"Who goes there?" Lothíriel asked, not exactly sounding as brave as she wanted to.

"Princess? Is it you?" captain Aradhain's voice came and relief flooded over her. Finally some luck for her this night! She'd be safe with the good captain, and he'd know the way back to Hornburg. And even if he didn't, she still had better chance at survival if she stayed with him.

"It is me! Aradhain, are the others well? Is Móna dead? What has happened?" she quickly inquired as he dismounted.

"I do not know", he answered, his voice going suddenly low and raspy. She frowned – where had she heard that voice before?

"Were they orcs? Dunlendings?" the princess wanted to know.

"Didn't see", Aradhain answered, striding quickly towards her. Finally she could see some of his face in moonlight, and his expression was very odd and even scary. He looked at her and his eyes shimmered in a way that unnerved her. Lothíriel had never seen him looking like that before and it terrified her.

"Are you hurt? Is something wrong?" she asked, and suddenly she felt scared. What on earth was wrong with him?

"My little princess... finally we are alone!" he rasped.

She realized.

It was him. It had been him all along.

"You!" Lothíriel shouted in shock and stumbled back. How could this man whom she had considered such a brave and good warrior be the monster that had haunted her steps ever since Aldburg?

"Me. Glad to notice you remember me!" he grunted and approached her; she stumbled back and fell, but then her hand fell on a stone. She picked it up and threw it at him, and to her delight it hit him right in th middle of his forehead. Now it was his turn to stumble and as soon as he did, she grabbed her blade. Blessed be the day Éomer had given it to her!

"Stop it, captain! This isn't you!" she exclaimed, desperately wishing this was just some nightmare that would soon end. Though he still pressed the palm of his hand on his forehead, he rolled his eyes.

"And how would you know that, princess? You know _nothing _of me! All these years, you've stared at the mask, but for your information, I have finally grown sick of that mask!" he growled and stepped forwards. At that, she lifted her blade to threaten him with it.

"I trusted you! _My father _trusted you!" she shouted, but fear was creeping in, and she had no idea of what to do. She could have tried escaping horseback, but he had apparently thought of that already, as he was standing between her and the horses.

"Well, you shouldn't have", Aradhain growled. But then he looked at her with what he probably thought was a softer expression. It only ever managed to make her despise him even more. Still, he spoke: "We don't have to do this the hard way. Put down that blade, and I will take you away from here. I will take you some place where none of this war and madness will ever find you."

"Take me away? Are you insane? I don't want to go anywhere! And certainly not with you!" she told him furiously, gripping her blade tight.

"Don't be idiotic! Do you seriously think _he _will come back? Do you really believe that they have any chance at winning this war? All of them will be slain, and then the shadow will fall here too, and you will be lucky if you are killed!" he argued, anger seeping back to his tone.

"You don't know that!" Lothíriel snapped back. "You don't know because you're a coward who creeps behind others' doors at nights and assaults defenceless people in the darkness, for you're too scared of what actual good men would do to you if they ever saw what filth you are!"

His eyes flashed and she knew it had been a mistake to say those words to him. In a quick motion, he had unsheathed his sword; it wasn't much of a struggle for him to knock the dagger from her hand. Lothíriel gasped and plunged for the weapon, but the point of his boot came to fast contact with her stomach, thus preventing her from grasping her dagger. Then he tossed away his own sword and grabbed her by her wrists. She was still coughing and trying to get back her breath.

"If you won't come willingly, then I will _make _you come with me! You should not fight and struggle, little princess. It will only hurt more, although not as much if you had preserved your virtue... Oh, but you had to go and give it to _him! _I heard all of it, you know! Stood right behind your door and heard! Did I not tell you that you are mine?"

"Let me go, you filth!" Lothíriel tried to scream, but her throat hurt too much.

"Yell all you want! He won't come to your rescue this time!" Aradhain snarled and tried to get a hold of her. "I should have killed him when I had the chance!"

They fell down, him imprisoning her under him. She tried to struggle and fight back, but it seemed to be of no use. She tried to drive her knee into his groin, and that distracted him enough to let go of one of her hands... and then her hand fell on it: the hilt of her blade! Hope was rekindled in her heart as her fingers curled around the handle.

With swiftness any warrior could have been proud of she cut aimlessly at his face. He screamed and his blood burst down on her face. In pain he rolled away from her and that moment was all she needed.

Lothíriel stumbled on her feet, running to her horse with all strength she still had left, and her fear gave her speed she wouldn't have otherwise had. She practically jumped on her horse, even though the motion made her entire shoulder and arm burn with excruciating pain. But she knew only one thing: she had to get away from this _man _as fast as she could.

And she rode and rode and rode, into the night and day and night until time was no more. Her body ached, her mind was numb, her shoulder was in fire and she was hungry and thirsty and there was no one to save her now. She did not notice the Dawnless Day for she was under the impression all of this was just a mad dream and she would soon wake up, or some silly notion like that and she hardly cared because her eyes were so dim now. She rode and rode and rode, beyond all hope she rode, until her horse collapsed under her yet somehow she still got herself moving, although all in her just screamed her to lay down and fall asleep on the cold ground. And there was only one thing she could think of: the face of a golden-haired man, but she soon started to forget what it meant or whose face it even was, and the most powerful thing about that face was moonlight and powerful warmth inside her heart, but it was all gone now because she would never see that face again.

Finally, senseless with pain and agony and everything that had happened, she plunged into darkness.

* * *

_March 9th, 3019, Hornburg_

_My Lord Éomer,_

_It is my bitter duty to inform you that your beloved Princess Lothíriel has passed away in unclear conditions. She rode out from Hornburg two days ago with two of her friends and only four guards. From what I have been able to gather, the company was attacked by a small band of stray orcs, doubtlessly survivors from Isengard. Along with the princess, Lady Móna perished, but others have survived with minor injuries. _

_Princess Lothíriel's body has not been recovered yet, but I have ordered to continue with searches. Captain Aradhain, who lost his eye in the battle, brought her blade home and said he saw her dead and I believe he speaks the truth. However, he has not been able to tell where he saw her, and I fear the orcs may have had their way with her body. _

_I am truly sorry for your loss and I assure you that you are not alone in mourning her. _

_With deepest sorrow,_

_Lady Léoma_

_**End of Part 2**  
_

* * *

**A/N: **... well. I don't know what to say. I suppose you people didn't really expect that? I fear that I can't really elaborate this at the moment... but I will, maybe after a chapter or two.

Now we are getting to the part that will likely be the hardest to take as it is. But more on that later.

Thanks for reading and for the comments!


	18. Chapter 17

**Part 3**

_I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
I feel it, when I sorrow most;  
'Tis better to have loved and lost  
Than never to have loved at all._

_- Alfred Lord Tennyson_

* * *

**Chapter 17**

"_Éomer."_

"_Éomer, speak to me."_

"_... she's dead, Uncle. She's dead." _

"_Many people are dead, sister-son, and trying to bring the wood down will not change that. Please, calm down. You need to come back to the camp with me."_

"_I can't. I can't. I should have been there. I should have..."_

"_It was not in your power, Éomer. I know it hurts, and it will probably hurt even more before we are done, but this is not the time to grieve her. That will come later, but now we must fight. I need you, Éomer. Your men _need _you."_

"_Uncle..."_

"_Come here, sister-son. It's all right – it's not wrong to cry. I __know how it hurts__."_

"_I must go and find her. Maybe she is..."_

"_No, Éomer. You know that she could not have survived – she was injured, and she was no ranger with skills for survival. You will not find her wandering in the wild. She has left the circles of the world and gone to her forefathers."_

"_I don't know what to do..."_

"_Follow me, my heir. Follow me and fight. Do your duty on the battlefield, for your skill and leadership will be needed... and many a life may depend on it."_

"_You'd have me fight, then?"_

"_You must endure, Éomer. House of Eorl must endure. No matter what happens." _

"_I..."_

"_Think of your sister, Éomer. If nothing else matters, then fight for her at least. We are the only family she has left. Would you leave her alone in this world?" _

"_No. No." _

"_We will fight. There is still strength left in our House, sister-son. And when we go home... then we will mourn our dead."_

"_Yes. We will fight... to hope's end, and to heart's breaking." _

* * *

Éowyn had ridden to war.

In despair, she had taken her sword and dressed in the warrior's garb. Shadows had fallen deep around her; they had expected her to stay behind when her family rode towards fate unknown.

The way it was turning out, it didn't seem like House of Eorl would weather this storm. And how should she be content in being left behind when what was left of her kin prepared to face the shadow? If they would fall, then she would fall too.

She would never forget that first sight of the Pelennor fields, of the vast armies of Mordor... she had held Master Meriadoc bit tighter then, and somehow the halfling's courage had given her courage too.

Éowyn remembered thinking: _if this is where and when I die, then I will die in a way I can be proud of. _

* * *

In the end, the Lord of Nazgûl had fallen. When it had happened, it had not seemed so outstanding to her. In fact, even afterwards she had these moments when she felt she had not really done anything that warranted the kind of attention they gave to her. But then Faramir would place a hand on her shoulder and gravely tell her that it was a grand deed that she had done, and that the House of Eorl could be proud of its daughter.

She had just done what she had deemed necessary. And her Uncle...

It hurt, more than she could have ever told anyone. After years of watching him slip away from his family, he had been healed and brought back: he had been the way she remembered him. And he had watched her with such gentleness and love, and it was almost as if her father had been returned to her. She too would have died on that field, but that was not her fate. She was found by Prince Imrahil and brought to the Houses of Healing, where she finally left the shadows behind and met the man who matched her: Faramir, the son of the Steward of Gondor.

Now her brother was the King of the Mark and like her uncle had told her, they would live to see these days renewed.

And it was not only that which was renewed: it was also her hope. The world was transformed, she thought to herself when she watched the banners of Gondor, Rohan and Dol Amroth return from the Black Gate. Gone were the black clouds over the eastern sky, gone was the shadow.

* * *

Éowyn's own life was filling with light now, though there were still some spots of dark mingling her happiness with grief. First, there was the death of her beloved uncle. Second, there was the passing of her friend, Princess Lothíriel. She mourned for both, but she knew her sorrow over Lothíriel could never excel what poor Éomer experienced.

She had not known it at the time, but the fateful message had been brought to her brother when the Rohirrim had camped under Min-Rimmon. She herself had heard of it only after the battle, and long she had wept in the arms of Faramir. Had she known of her friend's fate before, it might have affected a lot of decisions she had made. And Éowyn felt guilt, for on that day she had seen a look of death on the face of her brother and she had worried... but she had taken it for battle fury and chosen not to reveal herself, and so the both of them had been left to plunge into what they both had thought as certain death.

The death of their uncle, the loss of Lothíriel and his belief that Éowyn had also fallen had driven him into a dark fury that burned red-hot, something beyond all despair and sorrow and rage – something like the terrible berserkers from stories. In a haze of madness he had ridden like a tidal wave over the enemy's armies, pouring his grief into terrifying deeds of bravery. Éowyn knew her brother well enough to know that Éomer had fully expected to die... no, he had _wanted _to die. And he had made such an effort to lose his life that it was a wonder that he _hadn't. _

"_Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!" _he had bellowed when he had roused his men for the last stand. Only, that had not been the end.

* * *

Éowyn's brother had never been the most cheerful of men: ever since their parents had died, he had become brooding, often quiet yet with his anger and frustration constantly boiling just under the surface. Indeed, it had seemed to her that there was no peace in him... at least until she had seen the calm in his eyes when he had looked at _her, _his beloved Princess of Dol Amroth. And now the calm was gone, and the grim part of him appeared to have become even more prominent. She had been his smile, and Éowyn wondered if he would ever smile again now that the poor princess was gone.

Faramir said it was because there was no body. If she had been found and properly laid to rest, and her heartbroken lover could have had the certainty of her fate, perhaps it would have been easier for him to make his peace with what had happened.

"But the ultimate truth of my poor cousin's fate remains unknown... and there will always be those what ifs and mad little moments when one asks if she really died... you understand what I mean? There's no closure. There's no really saying goodbye", he had said and sighed. "And if there's no closure, there's no moving on."

Lothíriel was forever gone but always present, and she knew it would take a long time for him to make his peace with her memory.

As far as she knew, her brother had never really loved any woman before Lothíriel. Probably it was in good part because he had been so busy waging war that there had not really been any time for plans for raising a family. Well, like any young man he had had his share of brief dalliances, but that was hardly the same thing. They had never really spoken about things like that, but Éowyn knew her brother, and she would have known if there had been someone special... like she had known about Lothíriel the moment she had seen the two of them together.

The poor princess had been special indeed. First, she had been something of an ideal – a vision of perfection no one could ever compete with – and then a dream turned real... her brother's match in every way. In fact, her death only meant that she was immortalised in his mind, and once more she would turn stuff of dreams no real woman could ever excel.

Éomer had never loved anyone like man loves a woman, except for Lothíriel. And when he loved, it was with all the passion of his heart. That was just the way he was; he never did things by halves. And Éowyn wondered if he'd ever again love anyone like he had loved his Princess.

* * *

Perhaps he had begun to appreciate solitude because he had trouble bearing the laughter of the others. Then again, the more likely thing was that he feared his grim silence bothered others, and so he withdrew into his shell and moved about in a way not unlike a sleepwalker.

Silently, he'd walk alone the yards and gardens of the Citadel, lost in his dark thoughts and looking a lot like he'd violently trash the first person who dared to disturb him. Éowyn tried to accompany him sometimes and talk to him but his answers were curt and bitter. When the poor unknowing girls of Minas Tirith flocked around him, he looked at them with cold disdain, as if it were somehow their fault that he was parted forever from the one woman he had loved. Éowyn worried for her brother: how would he fare when she would leave Rohan to live with Faramir? How would he live alone and who would bring some light to this darkness? So she went to King Elessar, the man who had healed her, to ask advice. Perhaps he could also heal her brother?

"I fear there is no other cure for loss than time. Not even the best Elven remedies can heal the injury your brother is suffering from", he said quietly, but his face betrayed that he shared her concern for the young King of the Mark. "I worry for him too, Lady Éowyn. The light in his eyes is gone and I fear for what it will do not only to him, but all of Rohan. Watch your brother closely, my lady, for the fates of many may depend on it."

Éowyn left the king with heavy heart.

* * *

"Perhaps you woud feel a bit better if you got out more? Tried to get to know some of the Gondorian ladies?" she suggested to her brother once she noticed how each night he would retire from the social gatherings earlier and earlier. Éowyn knew very well, better than most, what poison the dark loneliness of one's chamber could be, and she did not want that shadow falling on her brother like it had fallen on her. The ladies swarmed around him, of course, oblivious of his tragic loss; he was, after all, a handsome young king with no queen by his side.

"There was only one Gondorian lady I was interested in. She is gone", Éomer answered, and the colourlessness of his voice terrified her. He did not seem to notice, however.

"Brother, you need a wife! You need to have an heir! The House of Eorl must endure. Our people need to see that the future is secured", Éowyn tried desperately. "Don't you think that trying to move on with your life would help you get over this sorrow, too?"

"I will have an heir. I will name him among your children when the day comes", Éomer said and for a moment the mask fell down a bit, revealing the pain that had not lessened at all. "I promised her, Éowyn. And I will keep that promise until the day I die and am once again reunited with her."

"Lothíriel is dead, Éomer. She would not want you to wallow in this misery for the rest of your life! She would want you to carry on and be happy!" Éowyn pointed out. Oh, how Lothíriel would have suffered if she had been alive to see her beloved like this!

However, her brother shook his head.

"I promised her. That is the only thing that is keeping me sane right now. By keeping my promise, at least something of her lingers with me", Éomer said with a tone of finality in his voice. Little did Éowyn know how agony boiled inside him as he remembered the conversation he had had with his beloved princess on the night of Battle for Hornburg: his own words came back to him as a bitter reminder. Back then, he'd never have thought it would be him to left here while she were gone... and only now did he understand how she had felt that night when she had feared for his life.

She had said she wouldn't let him face the unknown alone; what irony it was that he had not been able to do the same for her.

* * *

Éomer was not the only one who was devastated by Lothíriel's death. The princess' brothers and father broke into bitter tears when they heard of the fate that had fallen on the poor girl, and in agony Imrahil would ask over and over why had he ever let her go. Especially Amrothos, the one who was closest to Lothíriel in his age, fell into deep melancholy. Indeed, when the armies of the West had ridden for Morannon, there had been not just one but five warriors Éowyn had feared were looking for death.

Yet all of them came back, some unscathed and others bearing wounds that testified of their despair-inspired recklessness on the battlefield.

After the war, they became something like companions in sorrow. The five men, Imrahil with his sons and Éomer, would sit quietly together for endless nights. They did not speak much, yet they still shared their sorrow.

No matter how deep in grief Éomer fell, he never forgot about his new responsibilities as the king. Every day, he would check on his troops and go meet those who had wounded on the Battle of Pelennor fields or in the front of the Black Gate. He would sit and talk quietly with them, and he'd meet with Aragorn and make plans for the future. However, it was like Elessar had said: the light in his eyes was gone. If anything good was to be seen in all this, it was that at least Éomer had retained his working order.

Once, when Éowyn happened to be around, she overheard a conversation between her brother and Éothain. The plain honesty tore at her heart and she had to take a moment to compose herself afterwards. The captain of Éomer's guard would ask: _"Do you ever think it would have been easier if you had never known her?" _

"_No", _Éomer had said, _"for even in all this sorrow, I'm glad that I got to have her at least for a moment. She was... loving her, and the knowledge that she loved me back is worth all the misery in the world. I'd rather have one sweet moment with her and spend the rest of my days in grief than live my life with no knowledge of her." _

* * *

When his sister told him that the man had arrived to Minas Tirith to enter again in Prince Imrahil's service, Éomer requested his presence.

The royal garden was where he asked to meet Captain Aradhain. Éowyn had seemed to understand why he wanted to speak with the man, though she had wondered if it was a good idea. He had given her a grim look and asked: "What wounds could he possibly tear open that aren't already bleeding, sister?"

She had sighed at that and given up, but she had given him a hug.

The garden itself was nice, he supposed; though his opinion on the matter was not the most enlightened one. Still he had spent a lot of time there, because there it was peaceful and quiet.

Éomer stood watching over the White City when he heard steps on the path of white gravel behind himself. He turned around the face the man who had been last to see _her _alive. Dressed in formal clothes of a Swan Knight, Captain looked mostly the same he had before. The only thing that had changed was the fact that he wore a bandage over the top part of the right side of his face, covering also the place where his right eye had once been. Most of the injury was covered by the bandage, but Éomer could still see the edges of that wound; it had been one vicious cut.

"You asked for my presence, Sire", Aradhain spoke in a low, grave tone.

"Indeed I did. I suppose you know why I wanted to speak with you, captain", Éomer said quietly, and then he could not hold it back anymore. "Tell me of _her. _I want to know what happened that night."

An uncomfortable look briefly passed on the captain's face, and the young king wondered if it was very cruel to make the man remember that time. But he had to know, and so he stood silent waiting for Aradhain's answer.

"There's not much to tell", captain said at length, "I understand Lady Léoma informed you of what happened, Your Majesty?"

"They tell me you rode out that day, and for some reason, the Princess and her friend raced away all of a sudden. Lady Móna was klled, and the Princess... according to Léoma's daughter, she took an arrow and her horse galloped away. She was not seen again, except by you."

"That is correct, Sire", Aradhain said, still sounding somewhat reluctant. "I rode after her, but the time I found her... she was dying and I'm no healer. I could not help her. I would have brought her back but then I was assaulted by some more orcs and I had no choice but escape. It's not easy to tell where you are on those plains when you don't know your way around, and I was not in my right mind anyway, so I couldn't find her again afterwards, or tell Erkenbrand's riders where to look for her."

"Was she in pain? Did she suffer?" Éomer asked, though speaking those words felt like a dagger through his heart, and it took all his willpower not to break down all over again.

"She... I suppose she was scared, Your Majesty. That arrow... it wasn't one of those wounds that just kill you quickly. But she was braver than many a man I've seen pass away", the captain answered quietly.

The young king had to muffle a sudden sob; he quickly looked away and held back his grief. His poor princess... he should have been there with her, hold her on her last moments... but then, if he had been there to watch her die, it might just have driven him mad.

"Did she say anything?" he asked in a wavering voice.

"No. Not that I could understand", Aradhain said, shaking his head. It made Éomer feel almost violent kind of disappointment, for he had hoped... he had wished that maybe she had thought of him on those last moments of her life... that there would have been some word she'd have sent him. But of course it was foolish to think like that. She had been hurting and her life had been slipping away; of course she wouldn't have thought of any messages for anyone.

"I'm glad that you were there with her. Despite everything, I... it's good to hear that she wasn't alone", Éomer said, staring off to distance. When he turned towards the captain, a strange expression touched that marred face.

"I am sorry for not being able to fulfil my duty and protect her", the man mumbled. Then the look on his face passed, and the King thought there was something almost like regret there. "She was a good woman. You have my condolences, Sire."

"Thank you", Éomer said quietly and nodded at the Knight. "That will be all, Captain."

Aradhain bowed his head in silence and left the Lord of the Mark alone with his grief.

* * *

Later, Éomer told his sister what he had heard from Aradhain. She did not say it out loud, but she kind of hoped that perhaps this information would help him find that closure he was still lacking.

The captain had seen _her _dead. He had brought back her dagger. There was no doubt of it now, was there? She truly was gone.

But the minds of Men are a curious thing, for even if her poor brother technically knew of his beloved Princess' fate, he still could not let go. Faramir had been right: that there was no body presented uncertainty of such power that words of men paled in comparison.

And in restlessness Éomer would pace about, his face desperate and almost crazed as he endlessly asked himself: what if Aradhain had gotten it wrong? What if she had just been unconscious? What if she had somehow survived? What if... what if...

Even if those moments were rare, it still scared Éowyn.

_Brother, where are you going? _

* * *

It was not easy to return Edoras, even if they all knew they had to go back. The Mark needed her King, especially now that the rebuilding was about to begin and the wounds of war needed to be healed. Éowyn knew the Golden Hall would only bring back memories, and _she _wouldn't be there waiting for them, although her presence would still linger in the halls of the king. Her laughter would almost be heard, her whispers in the dark, her face shining like when she had looked at Éomer. Her shadow would follow him and everything about the once homely house would remind him of her.

Faramir asked whether she wanted him to come along, but the Shieldmaiden told him to stay in Minas Tirith.

"King Elessar needs you here, Faramir. I will manage somehow, like I've always had. We will be back before you know it", Éowyn said to him on the morning of their departure.

"Send a word for me if anything should happen", Faramir made her swear. After a kiss she bid farewell to him and Éomer King's party took off for Rohan.

Back home, there were countless things to attend to, but Éomer had one thing in his mind that could not wait. So, the day after they had arrived to Edoras he took Firefoot and some of his men, and then he rode like the wind to Helm's Deep.

When he was nearing his destination, he dismounted and ordered his men to go forth to the fortress without him. There was something he needed to do and it could not wait.

Not far from the tomb of Háma were two smaller mounds, like he had been told. He did not pay much attention to the other one, but strode with quick steps for the small headstone. It had been carved of grey rock... _grey, like her eyes_. There was no body under the billowy grass, as it had never been recovered, but Lady Léoma (and especially her daughter) had demanded a place of remembrance be set. With quivering hands, he placed a small wreath of Simbelmynë by the stone.

_Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth_

_2999 – 3019 T. A. _

_Lost but never forgotten. _

"Lothíriel... I... I have survived and returned, like I promised to you", he began quietly. "I see you were not as lucky. I am so sorry! I should have been there... if only I had been there..."

"I miss you. So much that sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. How can you be gone, when your presence lingers here so strongly? Every moment, I expect to turn around and find you there, light in your eyes and smile on your face."

"I promise I will stay true to you. You were the only one... you still are. I... wish you may rest in peace. And I hope you will be there, on the other side, when I finally join you. Perhaps we can then see my parents, your mother..."

"I... I do not know what to do..."

"Lothíriel!"

Falling down on his knees, he wept.

* * *

**A/N: **And so the war is over, but unfortunately Lothíriel's fate will remain a mystery a bit longer.

Like Faramir notes, this is a hard place for Éomer to come in terms with. Personally I'd like to believe that you can grieve for someone you've lost but eventually you can move on. But here it's different because Lothíriel has not been found. Saying goodbye is hard as it is, but when someone just disappears like that... finding closure is very difficult indeed. I suppose it's something of a reflection of the despair I used to feel at the time when I was writing this story. In that state of mind, it's easy to believe it'll never end.

Thanks for the comments!

* * *

**beesaurs - **Perhaps Lady Léoma did hope for Lothíriel's safe return, Aradhain's insistence that she was dead and the fact that she could not be found would make it hard for Léoma to keep to that hope. It's a tense situation, after all. She probably made a miscalculation in sending the message to Éomer so soon, but she means well and thinks he has a right to know the truth.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Stán the Mute lived alone on the scarcely inhabited lands of the Wold, just at the reach of Fangorn forest.

For a man with the blood of the Rohirrim, he was something of an abnormality – or at least that was what they told him. He was small, barely 5 feet tall. He could not handle a sword or throw a spear, nor could he ride. But light of foot he was, and there was never a better sling-man in all of Rohan. Also, ever since the day of his birth some odd 40 years ago, he had never uttered a word.

For all of these reasons, he had always been an outcast, and so he had chosen to live alone in the wild. Of course it was a dangerous life and many a time he had ran from all kinds of menaces, but his small size, his fast feet and the accuracy of his sling-arm had always saved his life. In fact, some liked to say that he was probably descended from halflings... only, what traits were usually seen in positive light when halflings were discussed, in him they were seen as weaknesses.

Hunting and keeping a small herd of sheep was how he made living. He had a small dwelling in a cavern he had dug into the side of a very steep hill. It was a place he could easily cover and disguise, so that even if one stood on the hill nearby, one would not have seen the place where Stán lived.

He didn't generally like people, because people did not like him either, but he was not an evil man.

In fact, if you took time to get to know him, you would have learned Stán the Mute was one of the kindest people you'd ever know.

* * *

He saw the girl when he was returning from a hunt.

She lay on the ground and her horse stood beside her, wavering on its feet like in extreme exhaustion. At first Stán thought she was dead, but when he knelt by her and turned her on her back, he saw she was still alive. The girl looked like she had spent days in the wild: her clothes and face were filthy, but he knew right away she was someone important. She had looks of nobility on her... and not just Rohirric nobility.

But that could wait. She looked like she was in the sore need of shelter and food – both of which he could provide. And he should probably take a look at that arrow wound on her shoulder too.

So Stán brought her and her horse to his hiding place and lay her on his own bed of hay. Even as he carried her, she never woke up. Her steed could take care of itself as long as there was grass and water for it, so he left the animal to its own devices and concentrated on the girl. After attending to her wound, he started to prepare some food. Hopefully rabbit stew would suit her, even if she was a noblewoman and was likely used to finer foods than what he could give.

Even though Stán mostly preferred his own company, he was still kind of fascinated by the girl. Under all that dirt, she was actually very pretty; her hair, even as filthy, was very soft and he even secretly stroke it for a while. Then he started to pick up the leaves and twigs from it and smoothed it gently. He'd have liked to know who she was and how she had gotten lost in the wilderness, but she slept for all the day and he didn't dare to disturb her.

Finally, Stán decided to go to sleep too and wait for tomorrow; perhaps then she'd wake up and tell who she was. But in case she woke up during the night, he left some stew nearby so that she could eat.

He woke up in the morning to the sound of a horse galloping away. The girl was gone and as he ran outside, he could see her riding off... towards north, it looked like. Stán sighed and shook his head. Perhaps she had gotten scared in the presence of a strange man. But even if that was so, she had not been scared enough not to raid some of his supplies. Some food was gone, as was a flagon for water. He already thought her a thief, but then Stán found the beautifully made silver brooch that looked like some bird... swan, they called those animals. She had left it by the now empty bowl of stew, evidently as a payment.

It was worth more than anything he had ever owned, and in confusion Stán turned it around in his hands. Just who had that girl been?

* * *

He was returning from a business trip when he heard the thundering of hooves. He had been to a village that resided closest to his dwelling (it was a two day journey for Stán – for some others, it would have taken three days) and sold all his animal skins for a fairly good price. In turn, he had bought some food and supplies he couldn't make himself.

He noticed the royal banner right away. The White Horse of Rohan flew in the wind as the riders rode down the hill and he stopped to watch them. The King himself was riding here in the wild! He had heard news of south during his trip, of a great war in Gondor and that some relative of Théoden's was now the Lord of the Mark. But usually Stán did not concern himself with things like that.

"You there!" called one of the King's men. Stán grimaced to himself; he had always hated this part.

The riders were now on the foot of the hill, slowing down their steeds. They were all dressed for war and carrying spears, which was probably wise in these parts of Rohan.

"You there!" was shouted again, and now the King and his men were just on the front of him. Stán felt intimidated: all the men were large and their horses even larger. He could be the fastest man of Rohan, but even he could not outrun a horse. So he stood silent and stared up at the bearded faces, wondering which one of them might be the new King.

"Are you mute? Why won't you speak? You are in the presence of the Lord of the Mark!" said one of the horsemen, but then another one pushed forwards.

"It's no use. He won't say anything. This one can't speak – I've seen him before and he's as mute as a rock. He lives on these lands alone and hunts rabbits and other such creatures", said the newly appeared fellow, sounding as if he thought it completely unnatural for anyone to make such life-choices as Stán had. The man had flaming red hair and a look Stán didn't really like.

"Perhaps he is mute, but he knows these lands like no one other. If she ever got as far as the Wold, this man would have seen her. I guarantee it", spoke a fair-haired man who rode a chestnut-coloured steed.

"It is worth a try, yes", agreed another rider. He was taller than the rest – in fact, it was intimidating how tall he was – and wore a white horsetail helmet. He was long-haired and bearded like the others, and his dark eyes were very sad. He looked at the red-haired man and asked: "Do you know his name?"

"I believe they call him Stán the Mute, Sire", answered the horseman.

So this was the new monarch. Well, at least he was an impressive sight. The King turned his eyes to the hunter.

"Master Stán, I imagine Éothain here was not wrong to say you know and see everything that goes in these lands?" he asked, staring intently at the mute man.

Stán nodded as a sign of agreement.

"Then I'd wish to know if you have seen the body of a young noble-looking woman?" asked the King.

That momentarily confused the mute hunter. Why would the Lord of the Mark be interested in seeking dead people? And anyway, dead bodies did not survive long in these parts. Either some scavenger finished them, or marauding orcs that one still encountered even after the war. So Stán frowned and shook his head, and felt silent sympathy when he saw the hopeful look on the King's face dying.

But then he realised the error in all of this. He had thought of dead people when he should have thought of the living, for he _had _seen a body... but it had been very much alive, no matter how bruised and battered. Yes! He even had the silver brooch to prove it, but it was back at his dwelling. Maybe he could ask the riders follow him and show the brooch to them!

He quickly lifted his hand to recapture the King's attention, but the man had already turned his face away. Anxiously, Stán waved his hand and then tried to communicate with gestures that the men should follow him.

"What? What are you trying to say?" asked the one called Éothain and the King turned to look at Stán again. The hunter gestured at the knot on his cloak under his chin, hoping that would make the horsemen think of brooches... but the faces of the warriors remained incredulous.

"This is not worth our time, Sire. This man's an idiot, everyone knows that. Even if he has seen something, he wouldn't have known what it was", said the red-haired man. "I don't think the Princess would have made it here anyway."

The King sighed and lowered his eyes for a moment. When he lifted them again, Stán saw so much sorrow and pain in those eyes that another bang of sympathy went through him. _This man, this new King of the Mark, loved the girl and believed her dead, yet still he sought for her. _And Stán could point him after the poor wanderer, if only the horselord would listen to him. So he quickly stepped forward and reached his hand to grab the reins of the King's horse, but instantly found a spearhead pressed against his chest.

"Not any closer, do you hear?" snapped the warrior who had stopped him. Stán fell back and finally, let his hands drop down. Of course he should have known that these people would not listen to him.

"We'll search the eastern parts, and then we'll ride home", said the King. He cast one last look at Stán. "Thank you for your help."

Then they turned their horses and rode off, and Stán the Mute fumed.

_You fools._

* * *

When one is immortal, there comes a point in one's life when amazement at world's wonders becomes rare. At that point it is a rare thing that will bring you astonishment. But to a small patrol of elves of Lothlórien, returning from Isengard where they had met with Treebeard, this surprise came in the shape of a daughter of Men. At the sight of staggering woman the elves were reminded of how wondrous Ilúvatar's world was, especially His children, and how it was the special gift of the Secondborn to be so very resilient.

It was about two days journey from the border of Lórien that they came across her. She looked like she was about to die from illness and starvation; indeed, it was a miracle she was still moving or even alive.

From her gown and cloak, now shredded and filthy, they deduced she could not be just any peasant that had gotten lost in the wild. Her once-fair complexion and dark hair, tangled and full of twigs and leaves, spoke of noble ancestry – as did the golden ring on her finger. Who was this woman?

But the greatest question of all was how she had come to be here. The kingdoms of Men were far in south, and even for an Elven party the journey would have taken several days. How had the woman survived all alone in wilderness? How come the wild animals or orcs had not taken her down (there was a bite mark on her arm, already showing signs of nearing infection)? How had she even been able to walk all the way here with an arrow wound on her shoulder?

None of these questions were answered, however, and for the moment it looked like they never would. The poor woman finally collapsed in the front of the elves and momentarily they thought she had died. But there was still a small flicker of life in her, and quickly the party prepared a stretcher for her. Later would come the time for questions. Now the woman needed help.

On their way back to Lórien she hardly regained her consciousness. Sometimes, she could be heard muttering nonsensical words to herself, distressed like she was calling for help... or calling for someone. But so deep in fever she was that the elves could not make sense of what she saying.

The Lady of Golden Wood pitied the sick young woman and did everything she could to bring her back to health. The mystery of this woman intrigued even the ageless Elven Queen, who had seen the wonders of the old world that was now gone. However, all she could was to keep the young woman alive but not bring her back to health. She could see the girl's life waning and slowly fading into darkness. There was only one person who could save her now, the master of masters when it came to healing: Lord Elrond of Imladris.

But Imladris was far, and the young woman was so sick that such a journey would only ever hasten her death. And even if she had been stronger, there were still many dangers on the road and in these times that the very Golden Wood was under threat, a proper escort could not be sent to bring her to Master Elrond.

However, the girl seemed to at least in this one thing be in the favour of Valar, for a young elf of the wood, named Thorion, spotted one of the great eagles flying towards north. Thorion, as one might have guessed by his name, was friendly with their kin and could even call them, and so the majestic bird turned back towards Lothlórien.

The eagle's destination was north, which was the way this strange girl needed to be carried too. And she was a light burden for one of the Eagles of Manwë. So, as the shadows fell that night, the sick young woman was carried to the edge of the forest where the eagle waited, and the bird carefully took her inside one of its clawed legs. Then he flew high, towards north, and Lady Galadriel wished well for this strange daughter of Men.

The arrival of the eagle, and especially that of his burden, caused much wonder in Imladris – especially when the eagle briefly recited the words of Lady Galadriel of how the young woman had been found. But as ever when the hurt and broken sought his help, Master Elrond took the sick girl into his care. Slowly, life began to return into her and Elrond saw that there still was hope for this strange girl. Daily she seemed to be a bit stronger, though she still did not wake up. The real turn for the better in her sickness came, however, the day news from Gondor were received: Sauron defeated, the Ring destroyed, the King returned. In his mind, Elrond gave her the name Sídhadonnen in the celebration of the great news and the prospect of a brighter future.

And that day, as the spring was advancing with rush as if the whole world was celebrating the final defeat of the Dark Lord, Sídhadonnen opened her grey eyes and asked:

"Who am I?"

* * *

_April 3019, Imladris_

With the spring, Sídhadonnen began to flourish once again, as if the fresh air of nearing summer had brought back her health. Master Elrond was happy to see the girl recovering, with only small scars on her shoulder and arm.

The Half-elven lord had been eager for her awakening, to hear who she was and how she had survived all the way to the reach of Lórien. However, when she woke up, she had no recollection of who she was and where she had come from. At first, she spoke only Westron, but soon started to adopt Sindarin that was used in in Elrond's household. Her learning was so rapid that Elrond believed she had learned the language before on some point of her life.

"I have only one memory. It is a face of a man. He looks at me and it is dark. I have a feeling he is important", Sídhadonnen said one day when master Elrond had come to check on her.

"Can you describe him to me?" asked the Half-elven. The girl concentrated, frowning.

"Long hair. I can't tell the colour. Dark, passionate eyes... He looks down at me. He is very tall and strong... I believe he is a warrior, for he has scars on his skin. I like his face... there is something good and kind about it, even though I think he does not smile much", Sídhadonnen described. Emotion, something she rarely showed, entered her face and voice – this man, whoever he was, had definitely had some important role in her life. Elrond nodded quietly. Perhaps this mysterious man she spoke of was a sweetheart of hers... or even her husband.

"Where do you think I came from, my lord?" the girl asked after a moment. Suddenly she seemed very forlorn and she looked down on her hands. He could very well understand that pain of not knowing where you belonged.

"I do not know, and Lady Galadriel's message made it clear that her people has no knowledge either. You could be from Rohan, but even then I suspect whether you could have walked such a long way all by yourself. What happened to you in the wild... I believe it was so terrible that your mind rejects it, and everything before that. Sometimes that is how one's mind protects itself", Elrond answered.

"Do you think my family is looking for me? Or if I even have family?" Sídhadonnen asked then, staring at her hands.

"I hope so. I believe your memories would return to you the best if your family was near you", Lord Elrond said. Once again, he wished he could somehow solve this mystery. Not because of the mystery itself, but so that this girl could return her family and carry on with her life, perhaps finding a way to live again and leave behind the darkness she had emerged from. This winter where she lingered was no way of living for anyone, and least of all for a young woman who had many years of life ahead of her.

There were the nightmares, of course. She almost never remembered them afterwards but whatever it was, it filled her with horror, so that her screaming would wake up those who inhabited rooms next to hers. Only one nightmare she would remember: it was that man, the one whose face was the only thing she could recall, lying dead on ground.

"There are other bodies, too, but I cannot recognize them. I don't see their faces – only his", Sídhadonnen said when Elrond questioned her about the nightmare. There was distress in her voice when she spoke of her horrifying dream, and he felt guilt for making her remember it. Still, he knew he had to try, for he felt these nightmares of hers were at the moment the only key to her past. She didn't need to tell him how she feared that this nightmare of hers might even be a memory of her past, and the mysterious man that haunted her thoughts was dead.

With her strength slowly returning, she started to go about in Elrond's house. After gaining some weight and colour on her face she began to almost seem like she had never even gone through that had nearly claimed her life. Still, she was a quiet girl, always lost in thought and hardly ever smiling. Often the Elven lord sensed she was thinking about that stranger man, wondering who he might be and if he truly was dead. There was spring on her brow but winter in her heart, that much the Half-elven lord could see.

Every time someone would ride to Imladris and there was a noise of hooves in the courtyard, Sídhadonnen would rush to the terrace to see who it was. Suddenly, there was a flicker of light in her eyes, as if she were expecting to see someone she knew. But every time the rider proved to be a disappointment for her; whoever it was that she was waiting for, he or she did not seem to appear. Master Elrond was not sure if the girl herself even realized this, however. It was still a clue: there was something about the horses that sparked her attention. And her golden ring... did these small things point towards Rohan? Perhaps, once her health was fully restored and she was strong enough for such a long journey, she could travel there to seek for her past.

Lord Elrond knew much and saw even more, and he quickly took notice of how young Tirithon gazed at the girl. The man followed Sídhadonnen's steps with gentle eyes that could not conceal his growing feelings for the other refugee. Lord Elrond estimated he was about the same age as her, so it was only a natural thing to happen – for him to be drawn to the young woman who in some ways was just as lost as Tirithon himself was. Often he would sit with her, talking quietly, or to escort her to the supper in the hall of Imladris.

As much as Sídhadonnen was a puzzle, Tirithon was as the clear rise of morrow. Being of Dunédain origin, he had grown up on these northern lands into early adulthood when the war had began to seem more and more likely every day. Some time ago, had been wounded in a battle. He had not been fit to join his people when they rode to aid their Chieftain Aragorn in his struggles against the Dark Lord. At first it had been almost unbearable for Tirithon: he felt his place was with his people. But with Sídhadonnen in the house, Tirithon's spirits had risen considerably. Elrond took comfort in the fact that even if the girl would never find her family again, at least there was already a bond forming between her and the young Ranger. There was hope for her yet.

It was very clear how Tirithon felt about Sídhadonnen, but Elrond did not see the same kind of affection in the girl's eyes. It was probably that man who she was always thinking of... or just her unwillingness and sheer inability to move on. Elrond decided not to meddle: these things usually sorted themselves out anyway.

* * *

The faintest sound of harp woke her up.

It was probably well after midnight, and at first Sídhadonnen wondered who was up and about at such hour. She sat up on her bed and concentrated on the soft sound; something about it was haunting, like she had heard it before. After a moment of hesitation, she got up, put on a robe, and went to seek for the source of music.

The house of Elrond was quiet and dark, but Sídhadonnen found the shadows here somehow comforting. In these shadows, there was no danger or fear. Imladris was always a place of beauty, but at night, it was just purely magical.

The golden sound of harp guided her finally to an alcove overlooking the valley. A small lamp cast enough light for her to recognise the one whose song who had woken her. An elf of Master Elrond's household was sitting there by a harp, playing a soft sorrowful tune and singing under his breath. Tall like his kind was, and golden-haired, they called him Glorfindel. Even among elves, his looks were of exceptional nobility and indeed, it was said that he was one of the greatest of the Eldar that still lingered east of the sea. She had heard some stories of his past deeds, for which she immediately felt intimidated respect at the sight of him. He had been away in east, aiding the elves of Lothlórien in their campaign against Dol Guldur, and had only recently returned to Imladris.

At the sound of her steps, he stopped playing and lifted his eyes to look at her. His eyes were very blue, and very kind, and Sídhadonnen's uncertainty started to be replaced by something like trust.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude... I just heard your harp, my lord, and came to see who was playing", she said quietly, though; one should apologise for interrupting someone like that.

"Oh, no you're not intruding at all. It is me who should apologise for waking you up, my lady", he said and smiled.

"My dreams aren't usually worthwhile, for they rarely make much sense to me", she said and shiver passed through her. Indeed, often she felt there was no peace for her even in the realm of dreams.

"You're welcome to join me, my lady", Glorfindel offered, which seemed good enough suggestion. Sídhadonnen did not really feel like going to bed at the moment, so she sat across the elf. He smiled and began playing again.

"You're Lady Sídhadonnen, are you not?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes, that is how they call me here", she said softly. "But I fear I can't give you my true name."

"Lord Elrond has spoken of you, but I must confess I did not realise it was you at first. When you appeared from the shadows, I nearly thought I was looking at someone related to my own kin... I would ask you if you have Elvish blood in you, but I suppose you wouldn't be able to answer that", he said, his fingers working over the strings of the harp with skill that was almost mesmerizing.

"You flatter me, my lord. But it's like you said. I can't tell you of my family or if they have blood of the Firstborn", she said quietly, and then she lifted her eyes to meet the elf's gaze. "What was that song you were playing before?"

"That sorrowing little song? They call it The Lament for the Rohirrim", Glorfindel answered and let out a little laugh. "Do you think it strange that an elf would sit alone in the night and play the tunes of Men?"

"No, not at all. It sounded beautiful", Sídhadonnen answered.

"That it was. I have lived long, my lady, and seen many wondrous things... but not many things are as wonderful as music. In Gondolin, they sometimes called me 'The Bard' because of my love for songs... And I have found that the music of Men is just as worth my while as the songs of West and Gondolin..." Glorfindel said and looked out of the window, as if he was gazing into the long years of his past rather than in to the valley. "When young Aragorn was still a ranger and fought in the wars of Men, I asked him to once in a while bring me a song from his travels. Of course, he usually had better things to do than chase for tunes, but every now and then he'd come here in Imladris, and he'd sing the songs of people he had met on the road. That is how I learnt The Lament for the Rohirrim, too."

"Could you play it again, my lord?" she dared to ask, hoping that her curiosity did not bother this great elven lord too much. However, he smiled again.

"Of course, my lady", he agreed and repositioned his hands on the strings of the harp. Then he began playing the same tune that had woken her up, and this time he sang the words loud enough for her to hear.

Sídhadonnen closed her eyes and listened to the song, and though there was something there that made her shiver and formed a hard lump in her throat, she was also almost feeling like she was hearing sounds from a place called _home. _

* * *

"I wish I could be with my tribe now. It vexes me when I do not know what has befallen on them and what is happening in Gondor", Tirithon said to Sídhadonnen one day. The woman had found out that she was quite good in needlework and had started to sew a new gown for herself, just to have something to do, and now as they were sitting on one of Imladris' terraces, she was working on her little project. It had been three weeks since she had first gotten up from her bed and she was feeling stronger every day.

"I am sure everything is going well down there", Sídhadonnen said absent-mindedly. "You'll be reunited with your kin soon."

"You still do not remember your family? Do you not worry of them?" Tirithon asked.

"Of course I wish the people I have known are safe. But then again, I do not even know if I had family to begin with. I could very well have lived alone in this world, just as I am now", she sighed.

"You are not alone. I am here for you", Tirithon said quickly and sat by her. She gave him a small smile, which he was happy to see, for she did not smile often.

"And I thank you for it, Tirithon, son of Tórion", she answered.

"Sídhadonnen... I have been thinking for some time now", Tirithon said after a moment.

"What is it, friend?" she asked, not lifting her eyes from her work.

"Well, on our time here I have... I have come to a sort of conclusion. You see, I like you. Very much, to be honest. Even if you don't remember who you are, I think you are an apt woman, and I... I promise I would take good care of you. I mean, if you were my wife. I feel we have a lot in common, because neither of us really have any place to go... we are wanderers, both of us. And now that the war is over and the Shadow has passed, we could live more peacefully than us Rangers have usually lived. So. Sídhadonnen, could you perhaps consider the possibility of taking me as your husband?" Tirithon asked, his voice uncertain and almost afraid.

All the while he spoke, she would not look at him; rather, she watched her hands work over the blue fabric, feeling detached as if she was just an outsider observing the scene. But finally, when he had fallen silent, she knew she had to answer. Sídhadonnen put down her work and finally met his pleading gaze. Somehow, looking at him made her feel very sad, even though she didn't know why.

"I do not know, Tirithon. I don't have an answer. I barely know you, and even less I know myself. Will you... will you give me some time to think? I am in between the tides and I do not wish to make any quick decisions... especially one like this", she answered finally. "I do not mean that I do not like you. You are a fine man and would make a good husband for any woman, but I just need to have some more time. I need to be sure."

Naturally, Tirithon was a bit disappointed, but then again she had not completely refused him. Perhaps there was still a chance for a future together with her? And anyway, maybe she was right in wanting some time for herself. That darkness she had come from... one probably needed a lot of time to recover from something like that.

So, swallowing his disappointment he offered her a smile and nodded. And truth was, Sídhadonnen was a woman worth waiting for.

He would wait for her forever, if that was what it took.

* * *

**ETA 09/06/2013: **Sídhadonnen translates into "peace born again". I'm sorry for not including a proper translation before!

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not sure what happened before, but apparently the new chapter disappeared somehow. Here it is again and hopefully it won't be lost again.

And now we are at the part that I'm most uncertain about, and this is pretty much what I meant in my author's note at the beginning of story when I said that suspension of disbelief would be required. As you can very well see for yourselves if you look at the map of Middle-earth, it's no small distance that lies between Helm's Deep and Lórien. It's no small feat to travel there, even if you are someone who is used to journeying far. As such, I will perfectly understand if you feel that this is something that could not happen. I also understand all doubts when it comes to Lothíriel's amnesia. It's no ordinary condition, but my explanation is that her illness, despair, and wanderings all alone in the wild are something that, like Lord Elrond says, her mind rejects to the point where she doesn't even remember who she is. In her condition, I see something of myself at the time I was writing this: she is lost, just like I was in many ways.

In my attempts to make this story of Lothíriel's survival more believable, I've revised this chapter many times. In the first draft, Aradhain actually killed her horse to prevent her from escaping. In that draft, things got _really _bad for Lothíriel - so bad, in fact, that I realised she could not survive something like that. So in the end she escaped on horseback before he could harm her. Indeed, it's probably only because she was riding that she was able to travel as far as Lórien. Stán the Mute is only a very recent addition, because even if Lothíriel did have a horse, it still seemed to me that she'd need help to survive. Which is where Stán comes along - but he had to be unable to speak so that he would not be able to tell he had seen her. Otherwise, Éomer would just madly race after her and possibly look for her so obsessively that he'd even find her, and the rest of the story would have to be completely rewritten (to be honest, I kinda hated myself for writing that scene where Éomer and his éored come across Stán and he gets so close to learning she might be alive). I actually really like Stán and I can promise we will see him again.

Like Stán, Tirithon is my own character. He's a nice kid, I think he's around Lothíriel's age or maybe a bit younger. Though I feel he'd be a good husband for Sídhadonnen (I'll use that name for her now, because she's not the same as Lothíriel), I'm not so sure he's really in love with her. It's more that he's infatuated with the idea of her and the mystery of her identity. In short, you could say he loves her because he thinks he needs to save her. Whether he will do that will remain to be seen.

As for Glorfindel, his characterization and the idea that he loves music is my own invention, as is the nickname "The Bard".

I know you're all waiting for the reunion of our two lovers, but I fear that will have to wait for few chapters more. And as always, I'm really grateful for all your comments and compliments!

* * *

**ETA: **As the updates seem to be working again as they should, I'm removing the Author's Note that was the Chapter 20. So, all of you who got notices that there was a new chapter: you've not missed an update but just me panicking whether my story or myself had gone crazy.

On a sidenote, as **Recovering4life **rightly noted, this is actually kind of confusing chapter (I'm really getting blind at my own text again) and I may try revising it one more time.

* * *

**Talia119 - **I can safely say that the attackers were orcs from Isengard. Aradhain is not someone who has accomplices - he's a loner and he'd probably think accomplices only make things more difficult.

**svionluynes - **No, this story is not quite done yet. :)

**wondereye - **That might not come so soon, as Lothíriel is really the only one who knows the truth about him, and you could say that she's not really even present at the moment. But we'll see!

**cCeret - **I hope this answers that at least partly, but it seems that she will remain lost to Éomer for a while still. Hope you have a nice weekend too! :)


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

One gloriously beautiful morning of May, Stán the Mute saw _them._

He had never seen elves before, but he knew what they were the moment he lay eyes on them. They were just as beautiful and ethereal as the stories would have one believe, and he stood frozen as he stared at them in wonder. It appeared that they were travelling somewhere and were now watering their horses and he had come upon this sight by chance. Where this company was going, Stán did not know.

But as soon as he had made his appearance from the Fangorn forest, there was half a dozen elves about him; some had drawn their bows and others had their hands on swords. Stán was already thinking his last moments were ticking by when another elf – a woman this time – stepped forth and spoke softly in the language of their kind. He did not know what she said but at least it made her more warlike companions put away their weapons. Dark-haired and grey-eyed, her beauty and radiance were outstanding, even in this company. Curious kind of serenity fell on Stán as he looked at this Elven lady and marvelled at her beauty.

She spoke again, this time in the language that sounded more like how Men spoke, but Stán did not know this speech either; he had only ever heard Rohirric during his life. So he shook his head and covered his mouth with a hand. He didn't know if she understood what that meant, but at least she looked like she did.

Then her eyes fell on the swan brooch that he wore on the left side of his chest. He had taken to wearing it after his encounter with the King of Rohan, except when he went to the village; people there would just have blamed him for stealing it.

The elf lady looked slightly confused and Stán felt frustration for not being able to explain why he'd have such thing. But then her eyes turned thoughtful and she nodded, as if to herself. She smiled at him and looked like she was about to say something, but then another elf appeared on her side and he made a gesture that Stán should go about his way.

He didn't make any sign that he had understood; instead, he bowed deep at the beautiful Elven woman. She smiled again, and as Stán retreated and went about his way, he thought of how he'd keep that smile with him until the day he died.

* * *

The night air was warm and heavy with scents of summer. A comforting silence hung over the royal gardens of the White City, though Éomer King of Rohan could still hear the sounds of wedding celebration from inside the palace.

He had retreated outside for a moment, to catch some fresh air and bit of solitude. The crowd, his heavy ceremonial clothes, and the inevitable assaults by people he had no patience for dealing with at the moment had gradually started to grow a headache, and as he wasn't too fond of being sociable these days, he had finally sought the dark quiet of the gardens.

It was Midyear's Day and inside the palace, the wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Undómiel was taking place.

Seeing how immensely happy his friend was, and how the atmosphere of love and joy filled the halls, a stinging sense of envy had come to the young king. He felt ashamed for feeling like that, but Aragorn, being the sensitive and kind heart he was, wouldn't probably have minded. In fact, he might even have apologised for being so happy, the damned man... In any case, for the first night ever since they had brought him the news of _her _death, Éomer was trying to be happy and not brood too much, but it was proving to be difficult.

After all, _she _was always there.

The celebrations had been extensive, as one could have expected. All the nobility in the land appeared to have gathered for the royal wedding, though Éomer knew Aragorn and Arwen themselves would have preferred something smaller and more intimate. But their wedding was not an occasion of little importance, and the two were happy just for the mere knowledge that they were now together. Ceremonies had been long and very solemn, but the look of bliss had never left the faces of the royal couple. Indeed, it was quite a celebration – in fact, several of the ladies seemed to think that another royal wedding was in order and he had been able to sneak away alone only by chance.

He had been in Minas Tirith only for a couple of days now, but he was already missing his home. For one, back in Edoras he would have been able to fill all his idle hours with work; here, it was dangerously easy to slip into loitering even with all the social calls and negotiations with Aragorn. And idle hours meant time that he had to be with himself and his thoughts. Furthermore, at least the ladies back in Edoras knew by now that he was not interested in courting them, and that he could be terribly rude if he was not left alone. That had already earned him several trashings from Léah, a woman who would take the position of the housekeeper once Éowyn left Meduseld. She was proving to be quite a formidable lady and he knew he would be able to trust her to run his household just as efficiently as Éowyn had.

Sighing, Éomer looked over the city and leant his elbows on the stone railing. His memory brought him back few months when he had rode from Harrowdale with his uncle; how he had not thought of the battle ahead, but rather what would come after it... he had imagined a future of Men victorious. Once the battles were done, he'd have called _her _to join him in Minas Tirith. She would have loved all these celebrations. He had imagined her showing him around in the White City... perhaps, after a while, he could have gone to visit her in Dol Amroth. By that time, it wouldn't have been so long before their wedding. And his poor uncle would have survived too: Théoden King would have lived to see the halls of Meduseld once again filling with little faces of royal children, and hear the sound of their laughter. Uncle would have loved it, of course, and Éomer knew he would have adopted the role of Grandfather like a second nature.

He had to close his eyes and grind his teeth to will away the agony that his imagination was causing him. Béma, how he missed his uncle... how he missed _all of them. _

Fortunately, approaching steps distracted him from these musings and Éomer straightened himself. He turned around to see who it was that had come to speak with him.

Perhaps it was evident on his face what he had thought, for Faramir's expression turned into that gentle, kindly sort of look Éomer was already starting to recognise. At first, the young king had not really known what to think of this son of Denethor, and especially the fact that his dear sister was bent on marrying the man, but he had started to see Faramir was someone he could respect and trust. His was quiet wisdom and warm nature, and Éomer knew Éowyn would be happy with him. It would not be easy to let her go, but he'd be damned if he denied his sister the happiness that had so long evaded the members of House of Eorl.

"There you are, my friend. I was already thinking maybe you had decided to sneak away", said the new Steward of Gondor and came to stand beside the King of Rohan.

"I just needed bit of fresh air. It's insufferably hot inside", Éomer answered and once again turned to look over the city, and to the fields where so many a good man had fallen.

"Yes, it's quite a hassle back there. I don't think I've ever seen anything this grand before", Faramir agreed, resting his hands on the railing.

"I take it that my sister send you after me?" asked the King, and his friend let out a weak little laugh.

"That she did. She was worried of you", Faramir answered.

"Is she anything else these days as far as I'm concerned?" Éomer asked dryly.

"No. Not really", the older man said quietly. The young king could feel his friend's gaze on himself, but he did not turn his eyes to meet that look. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Faramir spoke, "I miss her too."

A shiver passed through Éomer and he let out a long sigh.

"I wonder if it ever gets better. If there'll ever be a day I won't think of her and wish she were here. I... I feel like half of me has been torn away, and the half that remains is all that is weak in me... it's like, you don't even know how to breathe. I just want to feel complete again, but I don't think I can", he spoke softly. It was the first time he really spoke of it like this, and somehow, Faramir seemed like the perfect person to tell.

"Give it time, my friend. Perhaps it'll never be the same again – how could it be, anyway – but some day, when you think of her, and all the people who have gone before us, you will find yourself smiling through the tears", said the Steward softly. He too turned to look over the city, and the two were both engulfed by their memories of those who were now lost.

* * *

It really sounded like a good idea: a proper ride in the lands near Ithilien would do everyone good. Of course the risks were known, for although the war had ended months ago already, there were reports of small groups of Southron bandits hiding in those woodlands. But that was not a concern, not really. After the great battles of the War of the Ring, the possibility of encountering some hiding bandits sounded almost like nice sport.

Faramir said it was a good idea altogether. To Éowyn, he pointed out that it'd do good to her brother, and if the reports were true and ther really were Southrons in those forests, perhaps a little fight with some villains would even cheer him up a bit. As for the two of them, he'd get to show her the lands of Ithilien, where the two of them would dwell together once they were married.

Princes Erchirion and Amrothos decided to come along too, so in the end it was quite a formidable gathering. It was not a nice little court outing but warriors riding together. Aragorn would have come too, but he was kept busy back in the city, though to Éowyn it looked a lot like the King was more eager to spend every spare moment with his new wife than take part in hunting bandits. No one could blame him, however.

They left the White City early in the morning and were in Ithilien by midday, though they had not kept any particular hurry. The day was beautiful and the summer was at its fullest: on this day, it was hard to believe the shadows had ever existed.

Ithilien was a beautiful land, its lush sunny forest so different from the windy plains of the Mark. Éowyn could still see the damage that had been done there, as if the moment before dawn still lingered here along with shadows of night; it had her fingers practically itching with the need to be already able to start the restoration of this country.

Venturing down one path, they slowed their horses down to a comfortable gait. One of Faramir's rangers had come along as a guide, and after him the princes of Dol Amroth rode along with Faramir and Éomer. Then came Éowyn, and behind her men from Éomer's éored and some guards Aragorn had insisted on sending along. After a while, her brother let Firefoot fall behind so that he was riding beside her.

"Everything fine, brother?" Éowyn asked after a moment when he would not speak.

"Of course, sister", he answered, keeping his eyes somewhere off distance. She could still see there was something in his mind, though. Éowyn knew her brother, perhaps better than he did himself. At length, he spoke: "It's a beautiful land, this Ithilien."

"Yes, it is. I already like it", she agreed. "There's much work to be done, of course, but it'll be all the more rewarding."

"You'll be happy with him, won't you? You'll be all right?" he asked and there was just faintest hint of concern in his voice. _Poor Éomer. _He'd be so alone when she'd leave Rohan, and for a moment Éowyn felt bad for pursuing a life so far away from her homeland. But she knew he'd never ask her to stay. In fact, she knew how desperately he needed to see her content with her life. It was in no small part because of his unarticulated guilt for feeling that he had not sufficiently watched over her during the past years. And being the stubborn thing he was, she knew it was of no use to try and tell him that none of it was his fault.

"Of course I will be. Perhaps there are many uncertainties in this life, but Faramir and my feelings for him are not one of them. You needn't worry for me, brother", she told him gently, and her words seemed to console him.

"He's a good man. I'm glad to know that it's him you will be going with", he said quietly. She sought for his eyes, but he kept his gaze strictly ahead.

"Éomer..." she began, trying to find the proper words for her thoughts. Éowyn never got the chance, however: their ranger guide had stopped and lifted his hand to give others a sign to stop.

"What is it, Mornhir?" Faramir asked the man.

"Something is wrong, Lord Faramir. The forest is too quiet. I do not like this at all", said the man. Éowyn's hand was immediately on the hilt of her sword (after the Battle of Pelennor fields, no one – not even her brother – had questioned it when she chose to carry a weapon) and she cast a quick look at her brother. He had straightened up in his saddle, and his body had tensed like a bow drawn, ready for a strike as fast and deadly as a lightning.

At that, they came.

They were Southrons and they looked like they had been hiding in these woods ever since their armies had been defeated by the gates of Minas Tirith. Indeed, they were a ragged band, but perhaps that explained their attack: desperate for food, supplies and horses, they were not afraid to attack even a group of riders such as this. Éowyn had time to count about dozen of them (though there seemed to be more of them), and then battle was at hand and she had to concentrate on other things than counting villains. Someone was shooting arrows, but as far as Éowyn could tell there was only one archer. She heard her brother bellowing: "Someone take down that archer!"

It was chaotic and fast and furious, but Éowyn never lost her cool concentration. After all, this was very little when compared to the battle before Mundburg. Being mounted also gave them an advantage... and these Southrons really had not realised what they were opposing.

She first realised something was wrong when she saw Firefoot rearing up. Well, it wasn't just that; she had seen the animal do that many times. What was wrong about that picture was the fact that there was no one riding the stallion anymore. Then she realised what Firefoot was doing: like it had been trained, it was protecting its master from one particularly ragged-looking attacker. And there on the ground, behind the large warhorse, lay Éowyn's brother.

That moment, when she saw her brother down, she felt like her blood froze and her heart stopped from sheer shock. Horror and despair threatened to render her motionless, but then a stronger motivation took over. She needed to fight for Éomer.

Éowyn urged Windfola forwards and she let her sword sing and taste the blood of her brother's would-be killer. Then she flew from the saddle and rushed towards the unmoving shape of the young king of Rohan. Firefoot seemed to understand that she was no foe and it let her pass, and an eyeblink later she was on her knees by her brother.

Éomer had not taken any great damage that she could see – nothing that explained why he had fallen, at least. Quick inspection told her he was still alive, though his breathing was laboured. Finally, she saw the arrow protruding from just below his armpit where the hauberk was not so strong. As horror began to fill her once again, Éowyn remembered what Faramir had told her of Southrons and their weapons... and the deadly poisons they would sometimes brush on their steel.

"Éowyn!" shouted Faramir as he came running for the two remaining members of House of Eorl. When he saw Éomer down, his face became very pale.

"Is he dead?"

Dread was threatening to spill over as she spoke almost too quietly for him to hear: "We need Aragorn."

* * *

The sun was already setting when the King of Gondor finally came out, wiping his hands on a cloth, closely followed by Master Elrond, who was famed among the healers. Éowyn immediately jumped up at the sight of the two; Aragorn had told her to wait outside as he and Elrond fought to save the life of her brother. Faramir had stayed with her, for which she was more grateful than she could explain in words.

"How is my brother?" she demanded to know right away. "Tell me he's going to be fine!"

"We have done what we can for Éomer", Aragorn began gently and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It appears that the arrow only scratched at his skin, which we owe to the heavy armour he was wearing. But the Southron poisons are nasty, and even a scratch could be fatal. I have encountered similar poisons before, so we were able to prepare an antidote that may yet save his life."

"So he will survive?" Éowyn asked desperately, looking from Aragorn to Elrond and then back. The King's face remained grave, however.

"I can't say. He is very ill, Éowyn, and we can't help him any further. It all depends on him now", Aragorn said softly. A small sob escaped her lips though she tried to suppress it. She quickly shot a look at Elrond. The Half-elven lord seemed to know what she was thinking, for he spoke before she could.

"The remedies of my kind can do much, but my medicines and supplies are far back in Imladris, where they are no help for your brother. But his life burns strong, and on that we must place our hope now", Elrond said softly.

"Have faith, my friend", said Aragorn and squeezed Éowyn's shoulder. "Your brother may yet win this fight."

The White Lady of Rohan swallowed hard and looked up at the man who had saved her life.

"But does he want to win it?"

* * *

On the third night after the fight in the woods of Ithilien, Queen Arwen Undómiel strode into the Houses of Healing and ordered her husband to go and get rest.

"Your fussing and sitting by his bedside at all hours is not going to heal him. Nor will it help him if you pass out because of exhaustion. Go and sleep, Estel. I will take this watch turn by his side", she told him. He looked like he was about to speak, and she smiled: "Of course I will send a word if your aid is needed."

He kissed her and held her close for a moment, and then Aragorn left to catch some sorely needed sleep as she settled by the bedside of the Lord of the Mark. Her poor beloved had not properly rested ever since the gravely ill Éomer King had been brought back to Minas Tirith... but he had practically bullied everyone else to do so. Though Estel tried to keep up good spirits, Arwen could tell her husband was just as worried about his friend as others were. And for a good reason, for the sick young king had a high fever and had not shown signs of waking up any time soon.

It was quiet in the Houses of Healing: mostly, people were asleep already. She did not mind the quiet, for ever since becoming the Queen, her life had suddenly become very noisy and crowded. It was not even the first time she sat watching over one of the Secondborn. And she knew her husband would not have left his good friend's side on any other's request than hers.

She had brought some needlework with her to pass time, but every now and then she'd cast glances at the sick young king. He lay unconscious and unmoving, as he had ever since they had brought him here. The colour of his face was pallid and his hair was moist with sweat. Golden-haired man...

Suddenly, a strange feeling came to Arwen – like she ought to remember something but could not tell what it was. It left her with an uncomfortable feeling and she stared at the sick man for a long time, as if the answer was hidden in his face. But then she decided she was just imagining things. The strain of past few days would do as much to anyone.

Couple of hours after midnight, he stirred. Then he moaned and Arwen could see his eyelids fluttering, and she knew he was just at the brink of consciousness.

Gently, she took his hand in her own and called him in her own native tongue. Another hand she placed on his forehead, which burned under her fingers. The battle was not yet won.

"Come back to light, Éomer son of Éomund", she urged him in soft tones of Sindarin, and finally, he woke up with a gasp. His eyes were rolling almost wildly and he did not seem to understand where he was.

"Be calm, my lord. You are safe", Arwen said, her voice low and soothing. It had the wished effect, for he stopped shivering and his feverish eyes fixed on hers.

"Lothíriel? Have you come for me?" he rasped, his eyes widening. From Estel's accounts, she knew the name he had spoken: he thought she was the lost princess of Dol Amroth.

This reaction did not disconcert the Queen, however: she knew that for the Men, that place between life and death could be a strange plane. Though Arwen had chosen the life of the Edain, she was still Elven in every other aspect, and she knew he saw something on her that was not of mortal world... something that made him believe she was the spirit of someone so very beloved. And the young King _was _very sick. In his feverish state, it was no wonder that he'd take her for his dead lover, come to escort him to afterlife...

"I am not your princess, my lord, nor are you going to die tonight. You're quite alive still. I am Queen Arwen", she told him and was about to turn to pour him some water, but he would not let her hand go.

"Where is she? Where is my Lothíriel?" he roughly asked. What clarity had been there in his eyes for a moment seemed to be now rapidly disappearing.

"She is gone to the place Ilúvatar has made for her", Arwen answered. "She is in place where there is more than a memory. Lothíriel is at peace now, and she'd want you to be too."

"No... no – I can't let go – you can't – you can't have just disappeared..." he moaned, and suddenly there was such agony on his face that it could only be because of grief and pain of loss.

"Shh, my lord. You need to calm down", the Queen tried, resting her hand again on his forehead.

"I must go. I must go and find you. You could still be alive! You could... they did not find a body... I could not find you, like I feared..." he insisted. This made Arwen frown: she had not known the princess' body had not been recovered. Or was that just his fever talking?

"Please, let me come with you... please..." moaned the sick man.

"Live, Éomer King. Live, for your time has not yet come. Lothíriel wants you to live", she told him and at that, his eyes seemed to widen; something in her words seemed to have affected him deeply. The sick young king fell silent and calm.

She helped him to drink bit of water, after which he remained quiet. He watched her silently for a while, as if he still thought she was actually his lost love, and then his dark eyes closed once again, and the whisper of _her _name was on his lips.

_A dark-eyed, golden-haired man... the princess who had disappeared never to be seen again... the grief-stricken king of Rohan... and a girl without name and past...  
_  
He had thought Arwen was _her, _the one he had lost. The Queen remembered the grey eyes and the dark hair, not unlike her own.

It was all coming together. Tomorrow, she'd seek Mithrandir, and perhaps the wizard would be able to tell her more.

* * *

When the word was brought to Aragorn that Éomer King was awake, he rushed to see his friend. Indeed, he made such haste on his way to the Houses of Healing that he probably made a very un-kingly picture. His wife had told him that his friend had been briefly awake last night, but he had been delirious and had quickly fallen back into unconsciousness. Now, however, he was told that Éomer was indeed properly awake and back in his senses.

The door of Éomer's chamber was slightly ajar, so he didn't even stop and think of knocking. Instead, Aragorn entered right away.

Éowyn was already there, embracing her brother and sobbing in relief. Faramir sat by too, wearing a radiant smile on his face. The patient himself appeared to be doing his best to console his sister.

"Good morning, my friend. Have you too come here to throw yourself into my arms?" Éomer asked dryly; it was the first time since March that Aragorn heard his friend even attempting jest.

"Good morning to you also, Éomer", the King of Gondor greeted. Then he lifted his eyebrows. "Would it rouse you more quickly from your sickbed if I did toss myself at you?"

His friend snorted.

"I fear it would only make my sickness last even longer. You're not exactly a small man, you know – you'd probably break several of my rib bones", he said, which made Aragorn laugh.

It took a long while before the two kings were finally left to speak in peace; Faramir had managed to persuade Éowyn to go and catch some sleep, as she had not really been able to rest ever since her brother had been carried back. Éomer sat supported by some pillows, and though he was still looking pale and sickly, it was already evident he'd be fine soon.

"So, I understand that your aid has prevented my death for the second time in less than a year. Thank you, my friend", the younger man said solemnly, and Aragorn smiled.

"I'm not quite done with you yet. You are needed here still", he told his friend. The golden-haired man sighed and leant back his head.

"I know. To be honest, it did seem tempting. To stop fighting and just let go. Last night, I... I was so cold, so tired. But then it seemed to me that _she _was here and I thought she had come for me, but she said that she wanted me to live. Even in death, I can't resist her", he said quietly, staring at his chamber wall. He sighed again, "It was probably just some delirious dream, though. Things like that don't happen."

Aragorn watched his friend and wondered if he should tell the truth and that it had been Arwen who had sat by his side. But then... if that vision, the dream that Lothíriel had told him to live, gave him the strength he needed... was it so bad if he had that one thought of comfort?

"In dreams many things can happen. You _were _very sick, Éomer. Perhaps between life and death there's a place where 'impossible' is just a word", Aragorn answered at length.

"Hmm. Perhaps", his friend agreed. Then he grimaced. "How idiotic. I survive all these great battles, and then it is a small scratch of an arrow that almost brings me down."

"It's no small wonder that you did survive, my friend. Don't underestimate the Southron poisons. You're lucky to be alive", said the older man gravely.

Before Éomer could answer that, the door was thrown open with a loud bang and Éothain, panting and excited, appeared. From his looks, one could only assume that he had run here head over heels.

"My lord!" he exclaimed. "You are indeed awake!"

"Calm down, Éothain. I am quite fine", Éomer told his captain, and something like wry humour briefly appeared on his face.

"You did not look like 'fine' couple of days ago", said the Rohir captain accusingly. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? If this is how it's going to be like when one captains for you, I think I might just retire!"

"I was not exactly expecting that attack", the young king complained and made a face. "Nor did I meant to get hit by that arrow. And for your information, I'd like to say that you're not allowed to retire."

His captain scoffed.

"Well, I do hope you're more cautious in the future, or I will kill you!" Éothain said, his nostrils flaring.

"Do not fret, Captain. My men are raiding Ithilien as we speak, and they'll take care that no archer will ever hide in those woods again", Aragorn said with a smile. Only then did the captain seem to notice the King of Gondor. He looked just slightly sheepish when he noticed that.

"My lord", he greeted Aragorn and bowed.

"Captain", said Elessar jovially.

Éothain turned to look at his king again.

"You, laddie, would do well if you got better soon. And you should watch yourself or I'm never going to let you leave Meduseld again", he informed the younger man; he usually kept to the titles, but that didn't change the fact that he had known Éomer ever since the young king had been boy. Several years older than his liege, Éothain had been something like a mentor and guard, but also a close friend.

"Duly noted, captain", Éomer said gravely, which made his captain finally smile.

"Good. Now, if you will, I'll take my leave. Good day, my lords!" Éothain said and strode out.

No doubt much drinking would take place tonight, and Éomer made a mental note for having to put aside some compensation money for damages – such as disturbance by excessive yelling and singing and maybe an occasional interior of a tavern.

* * *

The day was so warm that Arwen Undómiel asked to meet Mithrandir in the royal gardens, where the air was more fresh than in her private sitting room. He arrived precisely at the time she had proposed, clad in his usual white and wearing the look of serenity that never really leaved him these days. He had fulfilled his task and the peace of knowing that was evident in his gaze. Looking at him, Arwen briefly thought of how strange his absence would feel once he would sail West.

"My lady, you asked to speak with me", he said after greeting her. She invited him to sit with him and they settled in a pleasantly shadowy gazebo.

"Indeed I did ask for you, Mithrandir. There are some things I must know and a favour I need to ask of you", said the Queen gravely.

"Speak, Lady Undómiel", he urged, curiosity glinting in his bright blue eyes.

"First, I wish to hear what you know of Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and her relationship to Éomer King", Arwen said, worrying the wide sleeve of her gown in her hands. If the wizard was surprised by this question, it did not show on his face.

"She was the daughter of Imrahil, whom I believe you have met. Last year, she was sent to stay in Rohan for a while. I understand it was late Steward Denethor's intention to form a new alliance between Gondor and the Mark by marrying her to the Crown Prince Théodred... who met his end because of Saruman's machinations. Be it as may, Éomer came to love the princess very deeply and she felt the same about him. Indeed, they made vows of future marriage once he'd return from war. However, not long after his departure, she died. They say her death has left him a bitter man, and I find that a truthful observation", Mithrandir explained slowly, his face solemn now.

"What happened to her?" asked the Queen.

"From what I gather, it remains something of a mystery. One day, the princess and her friends left for a ride, but at some point she and another girl began racing their horses like they had suddenly gone mad. Neither of them could be stopped and they rode right in the middle of a band of orcs that had survived from Isengard. Lothíriel's friend died there and presumably the Princess too was injured, but her horse carried her away. One of the Knights her father had sent with her said that he saw the princess dead, but no body was ever found. However, it was agreed that she could not have survived in the wild, and that she was not found likely means her body fell into the hands of orcs that were still marauding the area at that time", the wizard finished the tale of Princess Lothíriel's fate.

"No body was ever found..." Arwen echoed thoughtfully. "You were at Helm's Deep during the battle, correct?"

"Yes, I did ride there with Lord Erkenbrand", Mithrandir agreed.

"Did you see the princess while you were there?" she inquired.

"Indeed I did, however briefly."

"And would you recognise her if you should meet her again?" asked the Queen. Suddenly, she felt curious kind of enthusiasm. The wizard nodded.

"I never forget a face, my lady", he said.

"Then this is what I ask for you to do, Mithrandir. When you ride to Imladris with Ada, I'd wish you to go and see a young woman whom they call Sídhadonnen, for you see much and have ways of finding lost things that even my father knows not. This woman is a daughter of Men, whom some of our kin from Lórien found wandering in the wild. She was so sick that my grandmother could not help her, and so she was sent to the care of my father. Ada healed her but she has lost all her memories, even all knowledge of her own name and family. The mystery of her has often made me wonder, but now I think I understand; I believe she is none other than Princess Lothíriel", Arwen explained quickly, smiling to herself as the puzzle finally began to make sense. Even Mithrandir looked surprised.

"How extraordinary!" he remarked, but then he narrowed his eyes pensively. "However, how could she have survived such a journey? It is no small distance that lays between the Golden Wood and where the Princess was reported to have disappeared."

"I do not know the answer for that. But they say Rohirric horses are capable of things one would not believe, and if she was riding one that night... I can't say", said the Queen.

"That is quite true. And the younger children of Ilúvatar... there is strength and hardiness in them, the kind that still surprises me sometimes", Mithrandir agreed.

"It all fits together too well... and if what I suspect is true, it would bring so much joy for many people. Of course, I may very well be mistaken. And that is why I ask _you_ to see if it's her. For if I go and tell this to anyone else, it would send Princess Lothíriel's loved ones running for Imladris, and if the woman there is not her... it would only make their grief worse", she said quietly and then shook her head.

"Yes, I believe you are right. It's not a large thing you ask of me, and so I will do as you wish. I too would like to see those broken hearts mended", the wizard said with a smile. She answered that smile, but then she remembered something... something she had deemed irrelevant at the time. Her eyes became bright and wide.

"On our way here, in the northern parts of Rohan we encountered this man, who I suppose was a Rohir... some sort of hunter, perhaps. I saw a silver brooch on his chest – a brooch made into a shape of swan. And is the swan not the symbol of House of Dol Amroth? How do you think a piece of jewellery like that would end up in the possession of a Rohirric hunter?" Arwen explained quickly. Now Mithrandir looked astonished.

"That is indeed a very good question. Perhaps the princess met this man and gave the brooch to him, or he found it... nevertheless, it means she was in that area at some point", he agreed. "Indeed, this is a puzzle that needs an answer. I promise to you that I will take care of the rest, my lady."

They parted soon after that, and Mithrandir went about his way. As for Arwen, she went to see her husband, who was surprisingly not at Éomer King's bedside but rather in his private study, evidently trying to catch up with all the work he had been ignoring while sitting by the bedside of his friend. At the sight of his queen, he smiled.

"Hello, my love. You talked long with our good wizard – I saw you from my window. What are you two up to?" he asked as he rose up and approached her. Arwen gave him a small smile.

"I fear it is too early to speak of that, but I think it will be a good thing", she told him, and he trusted her enough not to prod. After a kiss, she spoke again: "I take it Lord Éomer is better today?"

"Yes, it seems so. He woke up this morning and though he still has fever, the worst seems to be over", Aragorn said. The look of relief was clear in his eyes. Then he gave her a thoughtful gaze. "I wonder if that has anything to do with you."

"You are mistaken, Estel. Ada is the one with the gift of healing, not I", Arwen said softly.

"Oh, beloved, I think we both know by now that there are hurts that go far beyond the ordinary arts of healing", said the King of Gondor, pulled his wife into his arms, and kissed her for a long time.

* * *

**A/N:** And so what was lost may yet be found again. Originally, this all went a bit differently, but in retrospect it feels very natural that Arwen should be the one to put together the pieces.

Of course, the whole thing might be solved faster if it was actually spoken about. But there are several reasons for why that doesn't happen. For one, at this point the elves are a receding power, and I think they become less and less of a participatory factor in the dealings of Men. It would not be in their character to go about, saying: "Hey, we've got this girl up in Rivendell, might you know her?" If anything, I think they feel Sídhadonnen must find her own way, and she has to find her past and memory on her own. They will help her to get on that path, but they won't walk it for her.

As for the Men... well, not many really know what happened to Lothíriel. Most just know that she died and that's the extent of their knowledge. And those who know that her body was never recovered are those who are still mourning for her or their friends. Especially people around Éomer have become really careful and try not to speak of Lothíriel, to the point where they don't even talk about her to others. So this mutual lack of communication doesn't really make it easy for anyone to work the math and realise that one girl disappearing and another appearing in another place is kind of suspicious. But crazy things happen sometimes and Arwen here wants to make sure it's really Lothíriel, because like she says to Mithrandir, it would only cause even more pain if she's wrong.

* * *

**Recovering4Life - **Now that you've pointed it out, I definitely see what you mean. I suppose I had another case of being blind to my own text again. There's a lot of moving in the Chapter 18, and many characters we haven't seen before. It's not structurally the stronest one. I may have to change that some time.

Unfortunately the reunion still has to wait for a little bit, but hang on there! :)

**Ortholeine - **I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that! I really was very worried about that last chapter and the whole idea about Lothíriel losing her memory. I do have a reason for why it had to happen, though. I'll probably write about that in the next chapter or the one after that. Amnesia isn't easy to pull off, like you said, and at worst it can ruin a lot of things in a story.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The morning was very early when she came across the training grounds of Imladris. It looked like the day was going to be brilliant: there was no cloud in the sky and the light of sun already caressed the vast vaults of heaven. Spring still lingered in this late April morning, but when she stopped and breathed in, she could almost smell the summer.

Only one person was up and about in the training grounds at this time, and it was Glorfindel. He was occupied by shooting arrows at a tall, narrow rod that had been driven into ground. She hesitated to call it practice, for on the rod, there were already six arrows in a neat row and as far as she could tell, he had not missed his target even once.

At the sound of her steps, Glorfindel lowered his bow and turned to look at her.

"Ah, good morning, Sídhadonnen", he greeted her and smiled. He never really seemed to lack that serene look, which made her feel like he was an old friend.

"Good morning, my lord", she answered courteously.

"Now, didn't we agree to put aside 'my ladies' and 'my lords'?" he asked good-humouredly. "Is something amiss?"

"No, not at all. I just woke up early, and... I suppose I wanted to see a friendly face", she said softly. He knew without asking that her night had not been a peaceful one; she was thankful for how he never made a fuss of it.

"I see", Glorfindel said, his voice gentle. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "Would you like me to show you how to use a bow? I have found it is not a bad way to let out some tensions. Perhaps that would be what you need."

That brought a small smile on her face and she quickly nodded.

"I'd like that, yes. If it's not much of a bother", Sídhadonnen said and a surge of enthusiasm filled her.

"Of course not, my young friend", said the Elven lord and smiled, looking as if nothing in the world would please him more than teaching her.

He spent a good while explaining her the basics of marksmanship, how she should stand and how to draw the bow. She listened attentively, nodding and hemming every now and then. Though she appeared as if nothing on Arda was as important as this lesson, Glorfindel was still rather surprised when he gave the bow to her and told her to draw it. She instantly took the right position – which was something one usually had to correct before the student had it right – and drew It like this was only one of many, many times she had handled a bow.

Out of curiosity, he gave her one arrow and told her to fire. Sídhadonnen answered with a small smile, took the arrow and shot. In less than an eye-blink, it was quivering on the top of the target rod.

"Impressive", he praised and patted her shoulder. "You must be one of the fastest students I've ever had."

"Perhaps I used to be able to do this before... before..." she said quietly, staring at her arrow as if she wasn't quite convinced of what she had just done.

"That is entirely possible, yes", Glorfindel agreed. That was indeed the more likely answer than that she was an undiscovered genius of archery, though she had not really seemed like a warring type to him. "Would you like to try again?"

It was already time to venture back inside for breakfast when they finished with the archery. He continued to be rather impressed with her skill; though she did not always hit her target, she did seem to have talent for shooting arrows.

"It feels familiar", Sídhadonnen said quietly as they returned inside. "I can't really remember anything, but there is this... this _feeling. _I can't really explain it."

"I think I understand", Glorfindel remarked pensively. Then he smiled at her. "Perhaps you should keep doing it. It might help you to remember something, or at least give you arms against your dreams."

"Do you think Master Elrond would disapprove?" she asked a bit worriedly.

"Oh, no. I'm sure he won't mind. Don't worry. I'll speak with him", he reassured her, and then Tirithon joined them, and conversations soon took other courses.

That night, Sídhadonnen slept more soundly than in days.

* * *

During her time in Imladris, Sídhadonnen came to know a little of Lord Elrond's daughter, Arwen Undómiel. Descended from all the three houses of Maiar, Eldar and Edain, it was easy to believe it when people said she was the fairest maiden among the living – in her, they said, the likeness of Lúthien Tinúviel had graced Arda one more time.

Arwen was kind to the young woman whose life her father had saved. Sometimes she'd take Sídhadonnen out for walks in the beautiful valley Imladris was located in, or kept company when her nightmares would haunt her, or sit with her and Tirithon. There was something calming about Arwen Undómiel's voice, and when Sídhadonnen listened to her, she could feel the demons that tormented her at nights dissolve and disappear. It was a great honour, she realised, and surely a tale to be told to her children some time. You could not exactly call them friends – that would have demanded more time – but Sídhadonnen would always remember the woman fondly and she hoped there had been more time to get to know the daughter of Elrond.

The reason their friendship did not really get a chance to develop was because on the first day of May a big company, including Glorfindel, Master Elrond and Lady Arwen, left for a long journey towards Minas Tirith, the city of kings. There she would meet and marry the man she had given her heart to: King Elessar Telcontar, a Ranger of the North turned king. To Sídhadonnen, it all sounded more like a fairytale than something that happened in reality.

"Do not worry, my child. You will be safe here in Imladris, along with my people and young Tirithon", Lord Elrond promised Sídhadonnen, who had come to bid farewell to the company. There was this particular look in her eyes, and that was of fearlessness – at least for things that existed in the waking world. Even though she did not remember what hardships she had faced during the journey that had almost claimed her life, it was as if almost all the fear she had ever might have had left her.

"I know, Master Elrond. I wish you a safe journey", the girl said, so solemn as always, and turned to bid farewell to Glorfindel; the golden-haired elf had more or less taken her under his wing, which was perhaps a friendship one might not have expected to see.

Finally, the goodbyes were finished, and the bridal party rode out, and Sídhadonnen quietly watched them leave the secret valley.

With master Elrond, Arwen, and Glorfindel away, life went on slowly in Imladris. Sídhadonnen spent most of her time wandering in the gardens of the house, practising archery (though it did not feel the same without Glorfindel's company), reading some of the books from Elrond's library, or doing some needlework. Tirithon accompanied her most of the time, and he always sat beside her during mealtimes. She was not unhappy, but she found she missed Glorfindel and the Elven lord's endless stock of smiles.

In Imladris, she also came to know Master Bilbo, a Halfling from the Shire. He had retired to live in Rivendell among the elves for the twilight years of his life. His hair was pure white and his old age had made his face a fine network of lines, but in his eyes there was still a look of wits and ready mind. Most of his life consisted of sleeping and enjoying good suppers, but sometimes he would tell her stories from his homeland and of his adventures; the tale of his journey east along with the twelve dwarves was her favourite. Sídhadonnen always listened to him attentively (especially since he was very good in telling stories), even though Tirithon did not seem to be as excited about meeting a Halfling and listening to him – after all, he had been in Imladris longer than she and had already gotten used to all the wonders of the house.

Time went by. Tirithon waited.

* * *

News from Minas Tirith came one day. King Elessar had wedded Arwen Undómiel, and Éowyn, Lady of the Shield-arm had married Faramir who was now the new Steward of Gondor. Sídhadonnen did not know why, but for some reason the name _Éowyn _touched her, like it had some deeper meaning for her. Perhaps it was because of the hardships this woman had gone through, like Sídhadonnen? Not that anything she had done could ever compare to riding for war and killing the Witch King of Angmar, but still she felt some distant kinship to this Rohirric woman. Both of them had travelled through shadows and again emerged to the light of day. Maybe, if Sídhadonnen was truly from Rohan, she might have even met Lady Éowyn once.

"... and Éomer King, though they say he's turning out to be a good ruler, is just as gloomy as ever. They say there was some woman that he loved, but she died while he was in war and he still deeply grieves for her. Evidently he believes he has to keep the promise he made to her. But the Gondorian ladies... well, you know how they love anything that has a crown on it and they do not care about his lost love or the fact that he is always so grim", the messenger chatted with one of the younger elves and Sídhadonnen could not help but overhear.

Suddenly, the messenger's words sent such an overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow over her that she started to shake. When Tirithon asked what was wrong with her, a broken sob escaped her mouth and soon she was in the middle of near hysterical attack of tears and lament. No one made the connection – they just assumed she reacted that way because she had remembered something tragic – and she was practically carried to bed by the terrified Tirithon who insisted on sitting by her bed for the rest of the day and night. She did not tell the truth even to her faithful friend but kept it locked deep inside her heart. For what would she have told it, anyway, when she herself did not understand?

Next day, she felt better and was up and about again. However, she could not tell what had caused such a reaction in her and to be honest, she preferred not to think of it too much.

And so, slowly the year turned into autumn and finally one day a big company of travellers rode to Imladris. Master Elrond had returned with most of the elves who had left with him, but there were other people with him, too: the four Halflings everyone talked about and the tall, white-haired wizard who went by the names of Gandalf the White or Mithrandir. Sídhadonnen felt the familiar disappointment when she saw the newcomers, as she always did – and so absorbed she was by this that she did not see the widening of Mithrandir's blue eyes at the sight of her. And she never did, for then she had spotted Glorfindel and meekly approached her friend to welcome him back, but the blue eyes remained on her for a long moment, until the wizard's expression turned into a large smile.

Little did she know what kind of an effect this visit would have.

* * *

When one looked at Gandalf the White, it was easy to understand where his reputation came from and why he was so respected. He was tall with looming presence, and his lordly appearance was in par that of Lord Elrond himself. He dressed always entirely in white, the exact same colour as his hair and beard. Time had marked his face with lines, but his bright blue eyes were ageless and wise. There was something familiar about the wizard's face, like he were someone she had met before.

She could only wonder what kind of stories this man could tell if asked, but as the wizard strolled through the gardens, deep in the conversation with Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, the girl did not dare to approach and disturb him. She did get to spend some time with the Halflings, who proved to be impossibly sweet and cheerful people (except for the Ring-bearer, who seemed very quiet and reserved, except in the presence of his uncle Bilbo). Especially the charming duo, Merry and Pippin, proved to be quite a pair. They sometimes even succeeded in tempting a small laugh out of the cool woman (something Tirithon greatly envied) with their silly little stories. Of course, there were more serious stories to be told, too: the Halflings eagerly spoke of their deeds in the War of the Ring.

However, the company was not to stay in Rivendell for a long time. The Halflings longed to see their home once again after their long absence. Gandalf would accompany them as far as Bree, after which he would go on in his own way. But on the last day of their stay in Imladris he asked to speak with Sídhadonnen.

The young woman was surprised by the request, but also very delighted. Quickly, she turned to Tirithon, who was as usual sitting with her.

"Do I look presentable? I do not want to look haggard when I finally get to speak with him!" she asked hastily. Tirithon just smiled.

"You are absolutely beautiful. Do not worry, Sídhadonnen", he assured. With a quiet nod, she hurried off to talk with Mithrandir.

The wizard was standing on one of the beautiful terraces, looking down to the valley. As Sídhadonnen approached him, he turned to face her. His smile was kind and his eyes warm as he looked at her, and she instantly felt he was someone she could trust.

"My lord", the girl greeted him and curtsied. "It is a great honour to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, my lady", the wizard said. After exchanging some necessary pleasantries he urged her to sit by a stone bench as he himself sat across her.

"Master Elrond has told me how you came to be here. It was a very amazing tale, I must say. Have you regained any recollection of the past during your time here?" he asked finally.

"Not really, my lord, but only one or two things", she said quietly.

"What _do _you remember, if I may ask?" he inquired. His voice was kind and gentle, and though she didn't usually like to talk about these things, something about the wizard made her feel like she could and should trust him.

"Well, there is this face. I have dreamed of it ever since I came here and returned to the world of the living. I do not know who he might be, but I feel he is of great importance. The other thing is... it is very vague. I do not know if it is a memory or just a dream. In it, I am walking through a dark forest and I am hurting all over, but there is gentle light at the very reach of my eyes, and I follow it", she explained slowly. The wizard listened to her quietly.

"Might this face belong to a tall man with golden hair, a beard, and dark eyes?" Gandalf asked. Something stirred in Sídhadonnen and for a moment she was sure she would start crying uncontrollably like that one day, but she got a hold of herself and simply nodded.

"I see. Do not fear, child, for I feel your final remedy is near. All will be well", Gandalf said gently. Something in his words lit a small spark of hope inside her and as she returned to Tirithon, he saw the glint of light in her eyes that had been so dark for past months and he wondered what it was the wizard had told her to make her seem so much serene than she usually did. Then again, Mithrandir _was _a wizard, and they said he could create light even when there was none.

As for Sídhadonnen, she had begun to hope again.

Next morning the Halflings and Gandalf the White bid farewell to Rivendell and its inhabitants. Sídhadonnen was there, of course, and she was sorry to see her new Halfling friends leaving so soon. They made promises of trying to meet again some day, but she was uncertain if those promises would ever be kept.

"I will look forward to it and expect for your return. How shall I laugh now that you leave me here?" Sídhadonnen asked, even smiling a bit.

"That is a good motivation to return as soon as we can! We cannot leave the fair lady sorrowing!" Pippin exclaimed. The young woman smiled and leant down to hug each of the four Halflings.

"Safe travel to you, my friends!" she said and then nodded at Gandalf the White who had just mounted his magnificent horse, Shadowfax. The wizard gave her a smile and bowed his head; there was a look in his blue eyes that puzzled her and she'd have liked to ask what it meant, but now it was too late.

After last goodbye, the company rode out, but Sídhadonnen stood for a long while to watch as the group urged their horses and ponies until they finally disappeared from her sight.

Tirithon came to stand beside her, laying an arm on her shoulders. Sídhadonnen did not mind it but let the man stay there beside her, and surprisingly, it felt good to have him there.

Even though he was not the one with the serious face and dark eyes.

She remembered them now – the dark eyes, just like Mithrandir had said... but she did not think she'd ever see them again.

* * *

_December 3019, Edoras_

It was Yule night again.

There was new kind of abandon in the air this night, something that had not been there last year. Éomer King of Rohan could sense it very well, even though he did not really share the feeling with the people of his household.

It was hard to believe it was only a year ago that he had seen _her_ across the hall with her friends. She had been so beautiful in her blue and silver, her eyes burning as she looked over to him. She had been so full of life then... so full of passion that matched his own as she kissed him in the shadows of Meduseld. He still remembered his wonder when he had understood that she loved him just as much as he loved her; it was something he had not dared to believe true. Those few precious nights with her now seemed like a dream.

The return to Edoras had felt somehow unreal; the prospect of his uncle's funeral had loomed over everything like an ever-present shadow, and he had felt equally uncomfortable about his crowning ceremony. And then there was the fact that _her _presence still lingered in the Golden Hall, as if her spirit had refused to fade with her life. Half the time he was expecting to see her approach him on corridor. She was all over this house, even if she had lived here for such a short time. Éomer wondered whether he would some day come to hate this place because of all the lost happiness it meant for him. It was not just the shadow of her that seemed to haunt him; so many familiar faces were gone now, so many things changed for ever... he wondered if he'd ever get used to it. And the burden of the throne was all the heavier.

At least there was always work to distract himself with; the restoration of the Mark required his attention in many things small and large, and re-organising everything after years of Gríma Wormtongue's virtual rule was a task of no little importance or proportion. He tried to keep himself occupied all the hours of the day, but even that could not chase away the dreams. Oh, the dreams! They were agonizing and exquisite at the same time, because in them, she was still alive.

There was much to be done: houses to be rebuilt, lives to be mended, new plans to be made. Already the rebuilding of his land was going rather well, which was one of the few things that brought pleasure for him these days. Even if he could not find peace, at least his people would.

Not long after his return he had sought her friend, Erfréa, and asked to talk with the girl. He remembered her as a carefree young woman whose joyful spirit could never be repressed, but the death of two of her friends had taken away that playful happiness. On the top of that, her brother had lost his leg in the battle and Éomer knew the young warrior had not come to terms with that yet – which only ever increased the young woman's concerns. Indeed, Erfréa had become serious young lady. Companions in sorrow, she soon started to become a friend of sorts to Éomer. He placed her under the supervision of his new housemistress Léah who had come to replace his beloved sister, thus making Erfréa the potential successor one day.

The final truth about _her _fate was not clear to Erfréa either, but she did believe Lothíriel had perished that night. Erkenbrand's daughter had seen her get hit by an arrow and then her horse had galloped away into the darkness, the princess slumping over her steed. Erfréa had been the one to insist continuing searches for the princess' body for almost two weeks until her father finally had pulled the men back to their positions, and the sorrowing young woman had been left grieving for her friends.

Upon visiting his beloved's grave, Éomer had recovered her possessions from Hornburg and brought them back to Edoras. Most of her things he sent to Dol Amroth for her family, but some he kept for himself: her blade and bow and the gown she had worn that day when he had last seen her (her scent still clung to it and it never failed to bring him into tears). But the most prized possession, along with the ring she had given him and the handkerchief she had made for him so long ago, was the small wooden horse he had made for her when they had been children. After finding it on her table he had placed it by his bedside table. Looking it always took him back to simpler, happier times.

Another thing that made Meduseld feel so unfamiliar was the fact that his sister was gone: she had married Faramir and left to live with him. He missed her more than he had known he would, but he never told her that, for he knew it would have made her regret and guilt... and that was not what he wanted her to feel, not now that she was so happy. Éowyn had always been sort of a bedrock for him, which he only realised when she was gone. He could never really say it aloud, but she had been a great support to him after the battle before the Black Gates, when the war was finished but the ghosts remained. Had she not been there, he didn't know how he would have survived those first days.

He had stayed firm on the matter of his marriage (or, rather, the lack of it). His advisers had tried everything to persuade him find a wife, but Éomer would not relent. As the time went by, the angrier he would become every time the prospect of marriage was brought to his attention. Soon people learned it was better just to leave matter alone for now. Perhaps he would find another woman after some time when there were no more tears to be shed for _her, _the one whose name was not to be spoken in the King's vicinity.

Whenever he could, he would ride up to Hornburg to visit her grave. Lovingly he would trace the letters on the headstone, almost as if it was her he was touching. He would sit hours after hours there, talking of his worries and concerns and his longing and loneliness. It helped to think she was somehow listening to him, even though she could not answer anymore.

This morning, he had felt the bite of grief stronger than in many weeks. Perhaps it was because this day he had a wreath made of Simbelmynë on his door, identical to the one he had taken to her grave yesterday. Probably it was because this day he was so aware of what had happened only a year before. It seemed to be a lifetime ago... if things had gone different, he might have woken up today and find her there beside him, and they would have spent their first Yule together... But that was a painful thing to think of, so he had briskly pushed away those imaginations and tried to concentrate on other matters.

Éomer would not have really wanted to take part in Yule celebrations, not only because he knew his gloominess would not raise anyone's spirits, but also because he could barely stand the atmosphere of love and happiness no matter how much he tried to be glad for the other, more fortunate people. But as a king his presence was essential. He knew what his dear late uncle would have said. Théoden would have smiled gently and placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly: _"Do not weep for the dead, sister-son. Live, Éomer, live for the Mark."_

But it was a hard thing to do, to live when he felt that personally, he had so few things to live for. He just did not know how to say goodbye. Oh, he'd fulfil his duties and live for the Mark... but not in the way his uncle might have wanted.

His people had already learned that he preferred solitude and quiet and that attempts to cheer him up usually just annoyed him to no end, so mostly they let him be alone. And so it was tonight too, and for a long time he just sat by the table, not really following what was going on around him and seeking comfort with his drinking horn. Finally he sighed and decided to go get a bit fresh air. When he passed by, Éothain gave him a concerned look (well, the captain rarely had other looks these days), but Éomer tried to offer a reassuring smile; hopefully it convinced his second in command that he wouldn't jump from the stone terrace head first or anything like that.

It was dark outside and he wrapped his cloak around himself to keep away the chill. The winter so far had been curiously warm, as if the very nature was still celebrating the defeat of Sauron. Indeed, the first proper snow they had gotten had come last week, only to melt away during the day.

The sky was clear and the moon shone so brightly that the plains around Edoras were very well illuminated. Éomer lifted his eyes and sought for the Star of Eärendil from the night skies, remembering all the stories his dearly departed aunt Lótesse had told him and his sister. What a agonizing thing it must be, to sail forever those endless oceans of heaven and listen to the moans and cries of people here in Middle-earth... But perhaps some of the moans would fade now that the shadow had passed.

With a sigh, he pushed his fingers into his pocket and drew out the faded piece of cloth that he always carried with himself. Gently, he unfolded it and studied the golden horse, like he had done so many times before. The scent of her touch was long since gone and instead, the smell of mail and sweat seemed to be more or less instilled to it, but the handkerchief was as dear to him as ever, perhaps even more now than before. Like the ring in his third finger, it was a physical proof that _she_ had existed, that once there had been such a light in his life. If he had not possessed these small things of her, Éomer might even have believed that she had been just a dream... it certainly sometimes felt like that, what with the way they said she had ridden into the night and disappeared never to be seen again.

Feeling the agony of his grief pierce through him once again, he breathed deep and closed his eyes. And there _she _was, her image perfectly preserved in his memory... that last sight of her on the day he had left for war. He should have known it would be the last time he'd see her; if he had, there would have been so many things he would have told her...

Sighing, he wished the memory of her away, at least for a moment, and gently folded the handkerchief. Éomer put it back on its place by his heart and lifted up his eyes to gaze upon his lands again.

As soon as he did that, he spotted a lone rider speeding towards Edoras across the plains. His brow lifted: who was riding with such haste on the Yule night? Ill feeling threatened to take over him – perhaps something bad had happened in Gondor and Aragorn was in need of his help? He would gather his forces as soon as the sun rose, but it would be an unpleasant task since most of the men in Edoras would be feeling weak after a night of celebration... But then he realised his error. The rider was not coming from east, but _west. _

Who could possibly be riding from west at this time?

He was waited anxiously, thinking wild thoughts of Dunlending attacks, until finally the rider entered the courtyard and dismounted in a way so graceful that even a man of the Rohirrim who had spent his life in the saddle might have envied him. The stranger was an elf! What business did a lone Elven rider have here in the Mark?

"I bring message to Éomer King from Mithrandir", called a bright bell-like voice as the rider swiftly climbed the steps up to the terrace; the guards there looked just as flabbergasted as the King himself felt.

"Here I am. Who are you, friend, and what has made you travel here on this night?" he asked as he took the letter, wondering what Gandalf had in mind.

"I am Firith from the house of Lord Elrond. Upon his departure from Rivendell, Mithrandir asked me to deliver this message for you, Sire. He hopes it will bring some comfort for you", the elf said mysteriously. Éomer frowned, but did not comment on the elf's remark.

"I thank you, Master Firith. Please, join the celebration and help yourself with food and drink. I shall have a place prepared for you to stay for as long as you want. Your horse shall be taken care of", Éomer said and nodded to the elf.

"I thank you, my lord", the messenger answered and Éomer escorted him inside. When the visitor had been taken care of, Éomer returned outside to read the message in peace.

Heavily he sat down by the bench near the entrance, opening the letter and folding it open. The wizard had beautiful, steady handwriting, but that was soon forgotten about as he read the message that made him hope for the first time ever since March:

_October 4th 3019, Imladris_

_My friend,_

_You are no doubt wondering why I should be writing to you so soon after our escort left your beautiful capital. It is not out of idleness, however. I have news for you that will likely amaze you just as much as they amazed me __when Queen Arwen Undómiel first spoke to me of this__. __It is to her that we owe our gratitude for discovering something that has been lost. _

_Last April, Lord Elrond received a very unusual visitor as one of the great eagles carried a young woman from Lórien to receive his attention. She is not, however, an Elf; Lady Galadriel says that a party returning from Isengard encountered her two days journey from the Golden Wood. The woman was seriously ill and near death, but in Lord Elrond's capable hands she has been healed – at least physically, for her mind remains wounded. They call her Sídhadonnen, as she has no memory of her name. _

_She seems to have lost virtually all recollection, but one memory has persisted even despite all the darkness she has gone through. She speaks of a tall warrior, fair haired and dark-eyed. If I should guess, I would say she is not much older than 20 summers; her hair is dark and her eyes grey, and her bui__ld__ and looks suggest Númenorian descent. In her third finger, she bears a beautiful ring of gold with a red jewel. _

_I do hope this information might bring __you joy__, for I have seen this woman before and I am convinced that she is Lothíriel, the lost Princess of Dol Amroth. _

_With fondest greetings, _

_Gandalf _

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter - it feels a bit forced to me at some points, but I've not been able to fix it. It has some new stuff that wasn't in this chapter before, so maybe that's the reason for it not flowing the way I'd want it to.

One thing on Éowyn and Faramir: I haven't found any references as to when they were married, but here I chose to place that event during the year 3019. However, I don't know if this is canonically correct, as their betrothal was announced during the funeral ceremonies of Théoden.

You may also be wondering why doesn't Gandalf address to Lothíriel in her own name or tell her who she is. That question will be discussed in the next chapter, so I haven't forgotten about that.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the comments!

* * *

**Recovering4Life - **Oh, I'm glad to hear that! I was truly worried whether I had managed to write something barely comprehensible. :)

**Talia119 - **I suppose I should say I'm sorry? :D

**Hannibal Lectrice - **That is good to hear! I try to keep my language simple anyway, because I know attempts at being poetic would probably end badly. :D

**Memory Bleeds - **Yes, that is something that bothers myself as well... I've mulled endlessly over how I could make it more plausible, but in the end the only solution seemed to be to just rewrite the latter part of the story, and to be honest that seemed a task too enormous... hence the warnings at the beginning of this story.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Edoras was in uproar.

Éomer King, whose mood had on that day been steadily and reliably grim like he had been ever since the war, appeared to have gone mad. Clutching some piece of paper in his hand, he suddenly emerged from outside. His face was exhilarated and excited like one wouldn't have believed and his very being was radiating with some unfathomable joy. It was a stark contrast to his usual brooding.

"She is alive!" he simply shouted, grabbed a very confused Éothain in a mighty bearlike hug and then began to laugh like a complete maniac. It took a long time and a couple cups of ale for him to calm down a bit, but as soon as he wasn't laughing and crying at the same time anymore, he began immediately to demand for his guard to depart with him for Rivendell. Erkenbrand and Éothain, who had become pretty good at handling their grief-stricken king over the last months, succeeded in making him understand that there was no sense in leaving for such a journey in the middle of a night with no preparations made. Master Flód prepared a calming potion for the restless king so that he might at least sleep until the morning before organizing an escort. With a blissful smile on his face, Éomer King retired for bed. The people of Meduseld knew, however, that it was only calm before a storm – though this storm seemed to be of joyful origin.

So, on the first light of dawn, an orderly chaos broke out as the King began to organize a group to escort him all the way to Rivendell. The journey would be long, but the Lord of the Mark could not be talked out of his plan. He was going, even if it meant he would have to go alone. At hearing that, Erkenbrand and Éothain had both sighed and exchanged a suffering look. Both of them knew very well that their King would escape from a window and steal a horse if they tried to hold him back. Only choice they did have was to send some men with him to make sure he wouldn't get himself killed.

When Erfréa learned what this all was about, she decided accompany the King. The possibility of Lothíriel being alive after all was just as exhilarating to her as it was to Éomer. And if the princess truly was sill among the living, Erfréa absolutely wanted to come along and see for herself. Otherwise she might jut explode. Lord Erkenbrand, who had with concern watched his daughter become such a solemn young woman, could not help but agree and let her go. Perhaps this meant that both his King and his daughter would find peace of mind... if the princess really was there in Rivendell.

On the matter of whether Lothíriel's family should be notified, Éomer showed at least some sign of still possessing sense, as he decided it would probably be a poor idea to send a word for them right away. He did not want to bring futile hope for the family of Prince Imrahil, whom he had come to admire and respect very much during his time in Gondor. In case Gandalf's message proved to be untrue and the mysterious woman was not Lothíriel, the princess' family would only suffer more – let the pain fall on him rather than on her father and brothers. Éomer could not rest until he knew the truth about this strange Sídhadonnen. The mere possibility of the woman really being _her, _the one he had thought he had lost, was intoxicating.

The men were not exactly happy about their master's sudden whim to ride to Rivendell of all places, especially right after Yule celebrations. As Éomer was going to push the horses as much as he could bear, they could probably make the journey in about two weeks. That meant, however, very uncomfortable travelling for the group (even though after the ride to the Pelennor Fields this would probably seem like a cosy little outing), and the time of year added to the discomfort. But Éomer would not change his mind. When it came to Lothíriel, he could be absolutely unrelenting. Gamling and Léah did a good job in ensuring that the word on the letter did not spread too far (it would not do good if a word was brought to Imrahil), but even then, they were not able to hide the fact that there was something in Rivendell that had suddenly restored the young King's energy. People were not stupid, but on the whole it was agreed that whatever made the Lord of the Mark cheer up like that was a good thing.

As the bells were rang and horns blown to sign the departure of the King, people stood waving to their tall leader, hoping that whatever he would find in Rivendell would bring him the well deserved peace of mind.

* * *

_January 3020, Imladris_

Yule celebrations had been calm and quiet in the house of Lord Elrond. Sídhadonnen did not remember ever celebrating the turning of the year, even though something seemed to move inside her when the banquet was started and the great hall was filled with just the softest light from candles. Tirithon had been on rather good mood, chatting and laughing enough for the both of them. Sídhadonnen did not mind, but she did try to add some sentence here and there. Tirithon could get so restless when she was too quiet.

After supper, most of the inhabitants moved to the Hall of Fire, where tales of yore were told and songs of the ancient deeds of heroism were sung. The young woman sat by old Bilbo, who was dozing off in his chair. The dignified atmosphere made even Tirithon quiet down with respect.

"How are you on this fine night?" Bilbo asked, not opening his eyes. For his high age, his mind was still agile and curious.

"I am well, master Bilbo", she answered quietly.

"But something seems to be troubling you", the Halfling noticed and finally peered at her, his light blue eyes curious.

"I feel... like some memories were stirring somewhere deep inside my mind... but not enough for me to get a grasp of them. It frustrates me", Sídhadonnen confessed.

"Perhaps it is a good sign. Perhaps it means you are healing and you will soon get your memory back", he offered.

"I hope so. Rivendell is a place of beauty and harmony, but I feel my place is not here. My home... wherever it might be, it is not here", she sighed.

"Any word from that warrior of yours?" Bilbo asked. He was one of the few people she had told of the man whose face haunted her. The old Halfling could understand the pain of loss and missing comrades that now were gone; one time, he had told her of friends he had lost and she had felt curious kind of kinship with the hobbit. After that, she had began to trust him in a way she did not trust many others.

"No. Sometimes I wonder whether he even exists", the young woman said, not able to hide the grief from her voice.

"Perhaps he is real... or perhaps he is an image of your mind, helping you to come back to health eventually. You are young, Sídhadonnen, and though the grief for those you have lost is sometimes a hard thing to carry, you should not let it rule your life. There are good men here – real men", Bilbo said gently.

"You are right. I should turn my eyes towards the real world. I know I should move on... I just don't think I'm yet ready to do that", Sídhadonnen sighed.

"All in good time, child. All in good time", the Halfling whispered and seemed to fall back asleep then as one of the elves began to sing songs from the long lost kingdom of Gondolin. Sídhadonnen let the clear voices carry her away for a while, to a place where she did not have to think of the mystery of her identity.

* * *

The dreams were getting so vivid now.

In fact, they did not even feel like dreams. She certainly could not tell if it was, not before she woke up, gasping for air and feeling so urgent pain for having to return the waking world that for a moment she feared she might suffocate.

This night, Sídhadonnen dreamt of long hair, of running her fingers through tresses that somehow felt both rough and soft at the same time. The feel of hair was so _real, _not at all like how things usually seemed in dreams. That was why she couldn't tell she was dreaming this time either. Rather, she concentrated on her hand, and on the hair... idly she thought it looked like spun gold.

It seemed to her that there was a soft voice, speaking to her, but she could not really tell what the voice was saying. And then he turned – it was _him_ – to look at her, but her hand was still caught in his hair, and she realised it was matted with blood.

And _he _looked dead, his skin was ashen, his dark eyes dimmed, the head of the spear protruding from his chest. Yet he still spoke, urgently as if calling her... but his voice came as if through water and she could not tell what was the word on his lips.

At that, the dream finally left her, and Sídhadonnen was returned to the waking world with a gasp. She shot up on her bed and as her breathing slowly returned normal, she buried her face in her palms. Holding back the tears of angry frustration was not easy, and she felt so _weak... _why did the dream have to turn like it had? Why couldn't it just be about the hair, or those dark eyes turning to look at her? Why couldn't she dream of what he was telling her?

Desperately, she tried to concentrate – to remember something... _anything. _But, as always, it came to him in the end. _He _was the only thing she could muster. The golden-haired man...

A quiet, broken sob escaped Sídhadonnen's lips as she covered her face with her hands once more, wishing he might have been here... or that he might leave her in peace.

"_Who are you?" _

* * *

"And you're sure of this, Lord Elrond?" asked Glorfindel after his Half-elven friend had recited him what the younger of the two had learned from Mithrandir. It was a wondrous tale indeed: that Sídhadonnen was in fact a princess from a faraway kingdom of Men, and that she should have survived all the way here in Imladris.

It sounded more like a fairy tale than anything.

"I am merely reciting you the words of Mithrandir. He agreed that it's a fantastic tale... but the evidence does seem to support his story, and he was convinced that he had seen her in Helm's Deep", Elrond said. The two of them were standing by one of stone terraces of Imladris, and Glorfindel's eyes settled on the shape of Sídhadonnen; she was returning from the gardens with young Tirithon by her side.

"Well, if Mithrandir thinks it is true, then I believe him. And I do hope his is right. It would be good for her to move on", Glorfindel said thoughtfully and turned again to look at Elrond. "Aren't you going to tell her the truth?"

"Mithrandir deemed it best not to speak of it to her yet. I agree that is a wise decision, for it is difficult to say how she'd react – and if it truly would do her well to tell the truth now. Instead, a word has been sent to Éomer King, who knows her well. He should ride here soon, I imagine. Perhaps his arrival is what she needs to regain her recollection... and if the truth is brought to her out of the blue, without none of her close ones near her, it might do more damage than heal anything", Elrond said at length.

"Hmm. That is probably for the best", Glorfindel agreed.

Winter would linger for Sídhadonnen little while more, but Glorfindel felt the spring was approaching fast.

* * *

For the first time since they had ridden from Edoras, Éomer was feeling low.

Well, that was no wonder. A wind had swept from the western lands, and along with it, heavy rain clouds had come. Of course he had known what they meant, and the practical side of him had immediately started to look for places that might give at least bit of shelter from rain. But he had no time for practicality at the moment. Lothíriel was waiting for him and he could not waste time by sitting around just because it rained.

However, when he had tried to tell Éothain they'd go on despite the rain, his captain had given him a highly unimpressed look and called him an idiot. Him, the King of the Mark! The gall of some people never ceased to astonish him. Be it as may, an argument had followed, and then Erfréa had joined it as well, and her screech at hearing they would press on had very nearly deafened Éomer.

"Éomer, Lord Elrond is not going to haul Rivendell and Lothíriel on his back and carry them away to West. She will wait for you, even if we spend one night resting. You know very well that everyone, including the horses, could do a night of proper rest", Éothain had said patiently.

So, in the end, Éomer had relented. In a thicket of tall evergreens, they had found enough shelter to retain at least he semblance of being dry, and to the infinite joy of the men, Erfréa was making some hot stew which actually had proper, fresh meat from a pair of half-tame marmots young Léohtir had shot. It was actually kind of ridiculous how clever men became when such prospect was presented: a canvas had been turned into a canopy of sorts, to give the cooking fire shelter from rain. Éomer had watched his men run about as Erfréa gave them orders to fetch wood before the rain soaked all through and through. He refrained from pointing out that such energy would have served better on the road. Instead, he had found a sitting spot under a large spruce, from where he could see the camp as well the gap in the tree wall of the thicket whence they had come from.

But as soon as he was sitting down, the rain started pouring harder, and the camp had quieted down in excitement to wait for food, his mind began to wander. What precisely waited him in Rivendell? What would he find once he rode there? It was possible, after all, that Gandalf had been mistaken. The wizard could not have known Lothíriel that well, so perhaps he had taken this Sídhadonnen for the princess. And if they rode up to Rivendell just to see that she was some other woman... he didn't know how he'd handle it. Gandalf's message had made him hope, but now he was scared. What if that hope was in vain?

And even if the woman the elves called Sídhadonnen _was _her... there was no telling if she'd even remember him. Why would she, if she had lost all recollection of even her own name? But then, Gandalf had written she had spoken of a tall fair-haired warrior. Surely that meant she'd know him? The possibility was still there, however. To see her again, and detect no recognition or love in her eyes when she looked at him was just as terrifying, though for different reasons. Perhaps she would not be the same as she used to be. How could she remain the way he remembered her, after all that had happened?

"Why are you moping here all alone?" asked the sudden voice that woke Éomer from his musings, and then Éothain heavily fell with a _thud _to sit by his king. "I didn't even think it was possible for you to mope right now."

"Shut up, Éothain. I mope if I want", muttered the King as he stared off to the distance. But hi captain was not that easily beaten.

"Really, Éomer. We're riding to Rivendell, to meet Lothíriel! I thought that made you happy", Éothain said, studying the younger man's profile intently. "You know you can trust me with whatever is bothering you."

"But is it really her? What if Gandalf was mistaken?" Éomer asked, and even speaking out that possibility made him shiver.

"The man's a wizard, Éomer. He'd know if it wasn't her", said the captain and gave a comforting pat to his friend's arm. "I think we can safely trust in Gandalf's word. Your princess is alive."

"Yes", Éomer said quietly, lowering his eyes to look at his leather-clad hands, "but..."

"But what?"

"What if she doesn't recognise me? What if she has changed and doesn't..." he said, unable to finish the sentence. It was surprising just how much the possibility of _that _hurt.

"Have faith, Éomer. Maybe she'll come running for you when we get there, and all will be just like before", Éothain said gently. "You remember my old grandfather? He lived to be really old, and during his last ears he got a bid strange and confused – he forgot most of his life, even the faces of his grandchildren. But he never forgot his wife. My grandmother, I mean. Sometimes, he'd think she was still alive and talk to her as if she were there beside him. Even on his deathbed, he never forgot her."

"But it's not the same. Lothíriel is young – she shouldn't be confused like that, she wouldn't..." Éomer said and sighed heavily. "Who knows what has happened to her? Maybe she... maybe she wont' come back. Maybe the Lothíriel we know is dead."

"I wish I knew what to tell you", Éothain said at length, his voice grave this time, "but I really don't. I suppose all we can do is just to wait until we get to Rivendell, and then see for ourselves. Don't be so sad, Éomer. She's alive, and that's more than we could ever have hoped for."

"Yes, you're right. Lothíriel is alive, and I should be happy for that", said the King softly. Really, that was what mattered, and it was selfish of him to just mope over whether she'd know him or not. For even if she had changed and wanted nothing more to do with him, he'd at least get to live in a world where she was more than just a memory.

* * *

Altogether it was strange to be back in Edoras, _he _mused to himself when at last the company made their way up the stone steps of Meduseld. The journey from Dol Amroth had been long and exhausting, and the storm that had hit after they had crossed Mering Stream had not helped either – it had delayed the company so that they did not arrive until after Yule. But Prince Imrahil was anxious to begin the negotiations with Éomer King, to send some riders south to train the Gondorian cavalry, and also investigate whether there was any possibility of buying horses, or at least lending strong Rohirric stallions for breeding.

When Imrahil had tasked captain Aradhain with this, the prince had said there was no other man he'd rather send: apparently he thought the captain would do better as he had stayed in Rohan while the Princess had lived.

"You know their culture and their ways. Not to mention they know you already. You're the best man I could possibly send for this errand, Aradhain", Imrahil had said when the captain had tried to decline. And eventually the captain had given in. At least it would be a bit of change to the ever-present heaviness that had taken hold in the court of Dol Amroth. One could see they were still mourning for _her. _

And so he had agreed to go, though travel had been less than pleasant, and once they had arrived, things went from bad to worse.

Éomer King had ridden north only two days before and the only thing his people could say for sure was that he'd be on the road for some time. Old Gamling, whom the King had more or less left in charge, said the King's matter was urgent.

"I could send a word after him that you're here, and perhaps some of our fastest riders would even reach him... but it would be a waste of everyone's time, captain. The King will not return from this errand, probably not even if Béma himself in his glory came to call our lord back", Gamling said. Something like a smile seemed to briefly grace his face.

Aradhain lifted his eyebrows at that.

"What could possibly be so important, if I may ask?" he inquired. Now Gamling's face turned more grave.

"I am sorry, but I really cannot speak of it. Éomer King strictly forbid us before he departed", said the old captain. Aradhain would have liked to argue, but he knew a lost battle when he saw one. Gamling would not speak, except to say that it might take a while before the King would return, and that he did not dare to negotiate a matter like the one Aradhain had been tasked with; apparently Gamling thought it was something his lord would rather want to attend to himself.

So Aradhain was left more than just a little frustrated, for this all felt like complete waste, to have come this far and then hear the King's return would possibly take weeks and weeks. But he wasn't someone who would just sit idly by and wait. And so he sought out the old man Rynan, the one they called the oldest man in Edoras.

Rynan had served under the long dead King Thengel and then Théoden, but he was old now – ancient, even. He was one of those people who just wouldn't die, as if he was made from the very bedrock and would live forever. Though he was old, he had not completely lost his wits. In fact, it was him people often went to speak with when they wanted knowledge of years past. Though his observance of the present day might sometimes be a bit faulty, he remembered the years of Thengel and Théoden's rule like yesterday.

And since he spent most of his time in Meduseld and listened to everything that took place, he would be the one who would know where Éomer King had gone, and what errant was so urgent... and especially why it was something Gamling would not tell to an envoy of Prince Imrahil.

"Ah, young master Aradhain!" called Rynan when the captain sat by the old man in the shadowy alcove where he preferred to sit. The old rider could not have seen Aradhain, not with the scarce light and his weak eyes, but apparently he had an uncanny memory of voices, and the Swan Knight had spoken with the old rider sometimes when the Princess had still lived.

"Master Rynan", he greeted the man courteously and offered a mug of ale to him to loosen his tongue.

"Oh, thank you. You must have heard my thoughts, for I was just thinking how thirsty I was", said the old dotard and took a long sip from his mug, and though he couldn't probably even see it, Aradhain gave one of his more charming smiles.

"Yes, you did seem to be suffering from the lack of this fine drink", he agreed and kept his notions of southern wine's supremacy to himself. These northern brutes of Rohan seemed to have as little taste for wine as people of Southern Gondor had for ale.

His words made Rynan laugh nevertheless, and soon Aradhain had the old man in the middle of one of his favourite stories. It took two cups of ale and three incredibly dull stories of old King Thengel to get the ancient rider to a state where, the captain perceived, he was most cooperative.

"Tell me, where has the King gone? No one seems to be willing to speak the reason of his absence", Aradhain commented at last.

"Well, my young friend, it is because we're not really supposed to talk of it. Éomer King does not want the word spreading", said the old man, taking another long sip from his mug.

"Why not, friend?" Aradhain asked. If the old idiot called him "young master" or "young friend" one more time, he might just drive his dagger between the man's ribs.

"Because otherwise the word might reach Prince Imrahil before it should. And the good prince would no doubt react just the same as our king did, if he heard, and come riding here like a maniac", Rynan said. Now it was really starting t bother Aradhain, and he bit back a frustrated growl.

"Might I ask... what is it? Why all this secrecy?" he inquired in soft tones, devoid of all curiosity. He was a good pretender, after all.

"You're them Gondorians. I'd do ill if I told you", said the old man.

"Oh, you can trust me. I do not have the problem of loose tongues. If it truly is something Imrahil should not know prematurely, then I will know to keep it secret", Aradhain reassured the aged rider softly.

"Hmm. You seem like a reliable man, so perhaps the news are safe with you for now... just so you promise that you won't speak anyone of this, will you?" Rynan asked, his voice very solemn.

"Of course. I swear I will stay quiet", said the captain with no little severity.

"Good lad. Well, the reason Éomer King has ridden north is because there has been a word that Princess Lothíriel is still alive. The word comes from the wizard Gandalf himself. Our King has gone to see for himself if this is true... and if so, he'll bring her back – bring her home."

The mug of ale fell from Aradhain's hand as the realisation sunk in, and a heavy fist of ice closed about his heart.

_She was alive. _

* * *

Two weeks after Yuletide Tirithon came strolling into Sídhadonnen's room where she sat by the window, gazing into the garden. The day was chilly and she had decided to spend it with her books and her needlework. She greeted him with a quiet nod and lowered her eyes back to her nightgown that she had been fixing (its sleeve had ripped during an unusually violent nightmare).

"You look tired. You had nightmares again?" he asked quietly as he sat across her. The young woman merely nodded, as she wasn't too fond of speaking of the terrors that haunted her at nights. Tirithon sighed and stared out from the window, and his brow knitted. Though he shouldn't have, he always seemed to take much concern for her nightmares, as if they fell on him just as hard as on her.

They sat in silence for a long moment until he turned back to her.

"I do not know whether you have noticed it but I get the feeling that the elves are becoming somehow more restless. They do not say it out loud, but I know why that is. Their time here is coming to an end. Soon they will leave this place forever", he stated gravely.

"I know. I see it in Master Elrond's eyes. It is only a question of time now", Sídhadonnen said, not meeting his eyes.

"What will you do when the time comes? Where will you go?" Tirithon asked.

"I do not know. But I am not scared. Not anymore", she answered and shrugged. Indeed, after the darkness she had endured, not many things seemed as terrifying... especially now that the shadow had passed.

"You could come with me. I am already fully healed – we could travel south and go to Gondor. I'm headed that way in any case, so I could escort you. And we could try to find your family there. I am sure someone must know you", he offered.

"Thank you for your offer, Tirithon", Sídhadonnen answered softly.

"It would be easier if... if you were my wife. Have you considered my proposal?" he asked; they had not talked of this ever since Tirithon had made the offer and she had been grateful for his discretion and patience. The young man's voice was suddenly almost fearful, yet at the same time, hope glinted in his eyes.

Sídhadonnen finally lifted her eyes from her handiwork and looked at the man across her. He would make a good husband, that much she knew. He would always be there for her and take care of her. He would love her, even if she could not answer that emotion with equal intensity.

She did have friendship and affection for the young man, but love? She was not sure. She had not felt that deeply about anyone ever since she had awakened here. She had a lot of respect for Lord Elrond, to whom she would always be indebted, and then there were Glorfindel and sweet old Bilbo. But the kind of love she expected to feel for a husband was something she had for no one here. Not even for Tirithon, although there was much she was thankful for.

Then again, many women married men they did not exactly love at first, but then became to care for immensely. It was possible to grow to love a man over time, was it not? Really, what was she even waiting for now? She was healed, after all. And it was a shadow she was waiting now, and each day she was more sure that shadow would never arrive. _**He**_ _was gone._ Perhaps it was a high time she moved on...

"I have thought about it", she answered finally, but not exactly sure of what she should say to him. She did not want to hurt his feelings – he had been such a good and loyal friend to her, always trying to break some of the ice around her heart. It was not his fault he had not yet succeeded in bringing her back to life. But maybe, if she gave him a chance... it could very well be her own fault.

"I promise I would do anything to make you happy again. Please, take my as your husband. Become my wife! I love you and I want to have you beside me!" he exclaimed, desperate suddenly. He grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. "Will you marry me?"

"Tirithon, I will-" Sídhadonnen began, but the sudden noise distracted her and she fell silent.

There was a sound. The sound of hooves and the neighing horses. Sometimes, it thundered in her ears when she slept, as if thousands of horselords just rode through her dream. Was that a memory or just her imagination? Had she at some point witnessed the charge of Rohirrim? And so, whenever she heard the noise of approaching horses, she would go and see who it was, as if that way she could decipher at least some of her unintelligible dreams.

Whoever it was, he or she was in hurry.

With Tirithon still staring at her anxiously, she rose up and wandered to the terrace by her room, where one could see the yard. She was already used to the fact that the riders came and went and none of them seemed to be worth her reaction, but maybe this time... that was what she always thought when she heard horses. _Maybe this time. _

There were twenty or thirty of them, all in heavy armour and dressed in earthly colours: green, brown, red. Their hair was fair, like in that song Glorfindel had called The Lament of the Rohirrim. And they rode magnificent horses, for which their people was known – the horselords of Rohan.

And there, riding beside elf Firith of Imladris, was a rider: a tall warrior, leading his riders with an aura of kingly command around him. Suddenly, her heart leaped. _She had to get a closer look. _

She turned around and dashed bast Tirithon, who was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Sídhadonnen?" he asked, his voice uncertain and even scared.

"I'll speak with you later. There is something..." she said quickly, the words very nearly stumbling over each other. She hurried out to the corridor then, and to be able to move faster, she picked up her skirts as she ran forwards. On her way, she very nearly crashed on a young elf on a way to bring some old volumes for Lord Elrond; she muttered a hasty apology as she hurried past the elf.

Then, finally, she was outside, and the brisk air of the valley filled her lungs. But she had no time for that, as she hurried towards the stone courtyard, and all the while the noises of horses were filling her ears, and finally she saw them, the horselords who could very well be her kin. But she took only a short notice of them.

And there, down the flight of stone steps, stood a golden-haired giant of a man. Dressed in armour of hauberk and red-brown leather plates that made him look even larger, he was a man of imposing presence. But he was not threatening, for he was looking up at her in a way that seemed to bare his very soul. His eyes were wide, and a tumult of emotions was raging there, from fear to relief and disbelief and almost painful longing, and even to something like nearly ecstatic joy. A thought came to Sídhadonnen: _I have seen those eyes before. _And his face...

_His face!_

It was _him. _It was the man who had haunted her dreams, who had died a thousand times in her nightmares, and who had refused to fade away into darkness with the rest of her memories. _It was him._

She descended the stairs, as if in a dream. She would have wanted to run down, to dash at him as if he were just a vision that was about to disappear any moment. Yet she could only move slowly, like her body was unable of such flight. All the while he stared up at her, frozen where he was, and it seemed to her that the fear in his eyes grew to something like terror, and she wanted to chase away that expression. She wanted to tell him everything would be all right.

Finally, she was on the front of him; she lifted her right hand to touch his face. And he was solid and warm and _real, _not just an apparition or a dream or a memory that would not speak its name. She felt the weather-beaten skin of his cheek, his dark beard, the arch of his cheekbone... and her heart raced. She lifted her other hand to his face too and felt fathomless joy fill her heart.

"I know you", she said quietly at first, in wonder and delight. Tears filled her eyes, but they were happy tears, and she repeated: _"I know you!"_

Something like a sob escaped his lips, a sound of relief so complete that it made her feel weak too. Then he grabbed her into a tight embrace, holding her close to his chest as he cried and said time and again: " Lothíriel! Lothíriel!"

_Her name._

And then, as he called her, she ceased to be Sídhadonnen – she was no more the nameless wanderer with no home or destination. Again she became Lothíriel, and _she remembered him. _She was Lothíriel and he was Éomer and he had returned just like he had promised. For he was the one she had been waiting for ever since she had woken up, the one whose face had haunted her dreams, and now he had finally arrived.  
_  
_"Éomer! she cried as the name returned to her and she burst in tears, for she knew and remembered him, and there were many things yet she could not recall, but she recognise him, she did remember his promise to come back. The ice around her heart broke away and let it beat freely once again; he had shot at her and the shot was _life._

He kissed her again and again and she could taste the salt of their tears and she did not know how she could have forgotten about him, the one who had saved her and for whom she had waited for so long, ever since she had been a young girl, and he had come for her. He had found her, like she should have known he would. And and sweet Elbereth, she had thought she'd never see him again yet here he was with her once more, her Marshal, her King, her Éomer – the man she had loved even when she had not known his name.

And finally, after months of living death, _she was alive with him. _

* * *

**A/N:** And so Éomer had found Lothíriel again. Writing this chapter, and especially the end of it, made me so happy that it's ridiculous. In any case it seemed like something that was needed, especially after all the angst.

Just to make it clear, Lothíriel does remember Éomer, or at least the fact that he is important and that she loves him. She has not yet recovered her memory in full. In the first version of this story, his arrival mad her remember everything, but in retrospect I feel that's not so plausible. This will mean I will still have to edit the later chapters, but at least to me it seems more believable this way.

Some of my readers wondered whether Imrahil would be notified also, but as it was discussed in this chapter, the word has not been brought to him. Éomer felt it would not have been such a good idea, because like Arwen, he did not want to raise hope that might be false. So he rather choose to ride to Rivendell himself to see if the one they called Sídhadonnen was really Lothíriel. But of course Imrahil will have to know now that Lothíriel has been found. More on that in later chapters.

As for what this will mean for Aradhain... you will see. The matter of Tirithon will also be discussed later.

Thanks for reading and reviews!

* * *

**Talia119 - **No, Glorfindel is not falling for Sídhadonnen (Lothíriel). Friendship is as far as their relationship goes. She seems him as something like a surrogate older brother, and he thinks she needs a friend. So Glorfindel is nice to her and befriends her and keeps her company. But I don't see Glorfindel as a very romantic character anyway.

**Mary07 - ** Well, I should imagine Éomer and Lothíriel don't really want her father knowing about that thing... He wouldn't probably react very well, and they both know that. As for her family's reaction - that is something for later. Keep reading!


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 23**

It truly was a day of happiness, and a day of healing. Lothíriel had cried and laughed, then started to cry all over again until her tears turned into another uncontrollable fit of laughter. Her heart felt too small to carry all these feelings, too small for all the love that suddenly surrounded her. It felt like after a long cold winter had suddenly turned into an unexpected spring of golden light, giving way for new life. She could not tell when had been the last time she had just... _felt, _like she now did.

And all the while, Éomer had held her close, joining her in her laughter and in her tears. He wouldn't stop murmuring her name or telling her how much he loved her, and his Rohirric was strange and familiar at the same time. When she looked at him, visions as if images of past would return to her: the sight of him when he lifted her from the waves, the look of deadly concentration as he rode between her and the Dunlending man, and how he had looked when they had been reunited after years of separation and he couldn't quite believe she was there beside him...

_Éomer. _How could she ever have forgotten him?

All of what had followed had seemed more like a dream than anything. Master Elrond appearing from inside and Éomer falling on his knee on the front of the Half-elven lord to utter his thanks in a voice that shook with emotion, Glorfindel's grinning face, Elrond welcoming the Rohirrim to stay as long as they wished... then the faces of the riders, many of which Lothíriel recognised; at the sight of a young woman, the one who was called Erfréa, she burst in tears all over again, and the two of them spent a long time embracing each other. She had difficulty in remembering their shared memories, but she could remember how the younger woman had made her feel and that was enough for now.

There had been little time for talking; for one, Lothíriel was still feeling much too beside herself to be able to really talk. Rivendell seemed to be full of bustling anyway, and most she could do was to hold on to her beloved King's hand and watch him with incredulous eyes, as if he could disappear any moment. It took many kisses and reassurances to make her let him go and change into something less warlike, and though he promised to be back as soon as he could, it still felt wrong to let him go.

Nevertheless, introducing Erfréa to Glorfindel had proved to be a distraction enough, and their chatter distracted her for long enough, until Éomer returned and once again pulled her close, and that was a place she happily vacated. A festive supper had followed, but Lothíriel had barely remembered to eat anything, for most of her time had been consumed by asking all kinds of questions of Éomer and Erfréa. Some things they spoke of she could recall, others seemed more like a dream half-remembered. And some things remained dark as the night. All of it was making her dizzy and a bit nauseous, which Éomer noticed of course... and not long after, he demanded to see her to bed – Lord Elrond agreed that it was probably for the best after all the excitement. After long kisses good night and promises that they'd see each other in the morning, Éomer had left her and Lothíriel had gone to bed.

But even after such a restless and emotionally exhaustible day – or perhaps it was precisely because of it – she was finding it hard to really calm down now... and as soon as she was settled under the covers in her bed, she felt the tears filling her eyes. She did not know why she cried, why now when she was found again, yet she could not stop. The silent tears became sobs, until she had to hide her face in her pillow to muffle it down... _it was just so much..._

The sound of knocking came, and she shot up on her bed, the sounds of her weeping dying on her lips.

"Who's there?" she asked and her voice came as a squeak. A shadow moved in her mind – a shadow of things lurking behind her door... but then she could hear _him, _and all her fear was gone.

"It's me. Is everything all right?" Éomer asked, and without further hesitation, Lothíriel ran to the door. _She had to see him. _

And so she threw the door open and hugged him tight before he could say anything. He pulled her close, as if sensing her need for closeness.

"What is it, beloved?" he asked softly.

"I... I need..." she mumbled into his chest, almost breaking into tears again.

"I'm here. Tell me what you need", he said urgently, and she could hear the distress rising in his voice too; he sounded like he'd go and fetch her the lost treasures of Westernesse if she just asked.

"You. I need you. Please. Don't leave me alone", Lothíriel pleaded, her voice coming as little more than a whimper.

"Of course I won't leave you. I'm here, min léofe. I'll look after you", he murmured softly and held her close.

She didn't really know how she ended up on the bed, but as he tucked the covers around her and sat beside her, she gradually started to feel calmer. Yet the aching feel still persisted and she looked up at him, fearing he might disappear.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked, not even trying to hide the pleading tone from her voice.

"I will", he promised. Éomer looked down at her, his face serious, and he seemed to understand what she needed. So, gingerly he lay himself down beside her and pulled her close, and she settled in his arms. The feel of his warmth, the familiar solidity of his form, finally did it: her distress started to dissolve and she relaxed at last. He had always been able to make her feel calm, just by being there, and she was glad to see that it had not changed.

"Why were you crying? Are you unwell?" he asked quietly.

"It's... I don't really know", Lothíriel answered at length. "It's stupid, crying over nothing."

"I don't think it's stupid", he told her gently, weaving his fingers through her hair. He sighed, "I wonder if I did wrong by coming here like this. I have upset you, my dear."

"No, no. I'm happy that you did come. I've already lost almost a year of my life, I don't want to lose any more", she said quickly. "It's not your fault. I suppose it's just... it's so much. I was ready, but I wasn't _prepared. _Does that make any sense to you?"

"I think I understand", he said after thinking about it for a moment. He held her a bit tighter then, "I'm glad. You sound so _you, _even if..."

"Even if I can't remember damn thing", Lothíriel said, trying to sound light – she didn't want to think of all the things she could not summon back. "Except you."

She felt a shiver go through him at that. She asked: "What is it?"

"Lothíriel, I... you know that you can trust me? That you don't owe me anything?" he asked quietly, and there was such fear in his voice suddenly that it made her tremble too. She sat up so that she could see his face.

"Of course I trust you", she told him, needing to chase away those thoughts from his mind. "Just... trust me in turn, will you? I may have lost many things, yes, but not you. Éomer, you're not the one of uncertain things. If I could just tell you how... how I've _ached _for you, and for not knowing who you were. I've been so miserable, but today, when I saw you, it was like waking up. Like I could breathe again. I may be a wretched lost girl but even I know what that means."

He sat up and kissed her, and she thought there were tears in his eyes. When they settled back on the bed, he spoke again: "I just don't want to hurt you. And I fear that is what I might do."

"To be honest, I don't think you ever could", Lothíriel said quietly. He sighed and she felt his lips linger on the top of her head, and she felt safe and sound. _She was warm, through and through. _

"I've missed you. More than I can ever tell", he said quietly. "And even now, when I feel you and hear you, I can still scarcely believe that you're real. Just... don't disappear like that again. I don't think I could survive it the second time."

"I promise I won't. You've found me... you'll always find me", Lothíriel said, and then she remembered one particular night, spent in the shadows of Meduseld, and the dreams they had shared. It had been Yule, and he had told her how he had feared she'd be gone one day. True, she had been gone, but no more. She held on to him a bit tighter: "I missed you too, in a way."

"What do you remember, Lothíriel?" Éomer asked then. She remained silent for a moment before she spoke again, trying to make sense of all the things that had started to fill planes of her mind that had been so dark.

"You are what I never forgot completely, and the things you say help me regain more... I know Erfréa and Éothain too. I remember these little things of them, like this... I think it was a Yule celebration, and she thought I was drunk", Lothíriel said and let out a small laugh before her voice turned serious again. "I remember that I was a princess. I remember the sea. I had brothers. _Have _brothers. And my father... I can see his face, when I close my eyes. I miss him... oh, what have I done to him? All of them? How could I have caused this grief to them?"

"Shh, it's all right. It's not your fault what happened. And you'll see them again soon. It'll be fine", he reassured her, and she calmed down again. Lothíriel sighed and snuggled closer to him.

"Tell me of my father and brothers", she whispered.

"They're good men, all of them. Your father, he's a Prince of Dol Amroth, and he's one of the noblest men I've ever met. He's wise and kind... and brave, like your brothers. In the Battle of Black Gates, we charged side by side, and... it almost felt like I had giants fighting with me. And they will be so happy to hear you're alive. It was especially hard for your father... Do you remember that day at the beach? When we stumbled to the shore and he came running? He was so terrified, and the way he looked... it was the same that day when I brought him the word that you had... I remember, you were soaking wet but you weren't scared at all, and when I placed you in your father's arms, he wouldn't let go of you. And you kept telling him that it was all right – that 'Mer had caught you", he spoke softly, his voice turning into a soft chuckle. "You couldn't yet pronounce my name, so you just called me 'Mer... Amrothos found that especially funny."

He continued talking, telling her of her father and her brothers, of Faramir and Éowyn, of Gondor and Dol Amroth and Rohan and all the people she had known there. Listening to his soft voice, she started to drift, until sleep finally claimed her, and the last thing she thought of before falling asleep was that this night, there would not be any nightmares.

* * *

It was very early in the morning, not long after sunrise in fact, but there was already a sound of battle coming from the training grounds of Rivendell. Usually, practice was not begun so early, but Glorfindel had said he had seen the King of Rohan coming this way. And so that was where she made her way, along with her Elven friend, who was headed that way too.

It was a good thing that Glorfindel did come: otherwise, she'd have severely misunderstood the scene that greeted her at the training grounds, and she would probably interfered with something important.

There, in the open area meant for swordplay, two men were fighting. It was blunt practice swords they were using, but she knew those could be used to inflict rather serious damage too – that knowledge came as if from the back of her mind, like most things now were, and she knew it must be because of her healer's education. The two men must have been at their battle for some time now, for both were sweating and breathing heavily, wearing faces of such intense concentration that it was probably no wonder that Lothíriel thought Tirithon was trying to beat up Éomer.

She lifted her hand and opened her mouth to shout, but then Glorfindel caught her arm and pulled her back to the shadowy corridor of pillars. The two fighters were so focused on their battle that they had not even noticed the princess and the elf.

"It's all right. They're not trying to kill each other. Just... wait and watch", Glorfindel said quickly.

"Then what are they doing?" Lothíriel asked, still not completely consoled though she knew she should trust the elf's instinct.

"For one, they're testing each other", he said and watched the two men fight and exchange blows, "and Tirithon... well, he's trying to see if he can let you go with a peaceful mind."

"But he does!" Lothíriel argued, at which Glorfindel turned to look at her, and a small smile touched his face.

"Of course. But _he _doesn't know that yet", he said gently. "Let them clear this out themselves, in their own way. That is for the best, my friend."

"Perhaps you're right", she eventually agreed. Now that she studied the faces of her beloved and her friend, she could not really see anything there that would have implied anger.

"Would you fancy some breakfast? I think they will be preoccupied for a little while more at least", Glorfindel offered. She'd of course have liked to wait for Éomer – it was a hard thing to let him be out of her sight – but the Elven lord was probably right about this... and so it was perhaps for the best if she did not show her face just now.

There would be time for her to speak with Éomer later. In fact, they'd have their entire lives to speak with each other. So, she gave Glorfindel a smile and let him escort her to the dining hall.

When Éomer and Tirithon finally came, they walked side by side. And though they did not speak, they wore similar faces of agreement, and Lothíriel knew everything was well between the two of them.

* * *

Later that day, she met Tirithon in the gardens. After all, she did owe him an explanation and an apology. It was incredibly relieving to know that her friend was not angry, though she felt he'd have every right, after the way she had just dashed away into another man's arms when Tirithon had been asking her to marry him.

This thought in mind, she felt anxious as she saw the young man's tall shape, and she swallowed. But then he turned around and though his eyes had this sad look, he was smiling.

"Hello there", he greeted her, raising his hands with this look as if he wished to hug her, but then let them fall. However, she quickly stepped into that embrace: she was so happy to see that he was not angry.

"So you're a princess. Well, I suppose I should have known that all along. Girls like you always are princesses", he said, trying to sound all light and brave. _Oh, sweet Tirithon... _"You're a fairy tale, Lothíriel."

"Oh, stop it. I'm just an idiot who nearly got herself killed and in the process, upset so many people that it's a wonder if I'm ever forgiven", she said weakly. She looked at him and the look on his face nearly broke her heart. "Including you, Tirithon. You, who were so good and kind to me... I am so sorry! I did not mean to hurt you!"

She very nearly burst in tears at that, but then he pulled her into yet another hug and held her tight.

"It's all right, Sídh- Lothíriel. I understand", he said gently. "This all... Lord Elrond has told me all, and I'm not angry at you. I hold no grudge. What happened to you was large, and very painful, and you really don't need my spite on the top of everything."

"I wish I could explain this somehow more adequately, or at least apologise better. But I can't. It's just... I can't change how I feel", Lothíriel said, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

"You don't have to explain anything. I know you would have made it clear if you had known he was coming for you", he said, his voice turning serious. Carefully, he lay a hand on her shoulder. "Sídhadonnen... I knew that your heart was somewhere far – perhaps too far for me to ever catch it. I see now where it lies, and my own tells that is a good place for you. For that, I am happy... and for knowing that you'll be safe when you go. Just... I hope he will know to cherish and love you, like you deserve. "

"He will, Tirithon. He will", she said, resting her own hand on his. She smiled, "Don't worry for me, my friend. I... am going _home. _I... thank you, Tirithon. For everything."

Through his tears, Tirithon smiled and he hugged her again, and his voice was muffled when he mumbled _you're welcome_. Then he wiped a hand across his eyes and gave her a stern look.

"Now, if you ever need anything – anything at all, like a trashing for a neglectful husband or something like that, you just need to send for me, and I'll come for you", he said firmly, and she kept to herself her notions that she was fairly sure Éomer was the last man on Middle-earth to ever be neglectful. So she just smiled and said: "I will, my dear friend."

When they parted that day, Lothíriel gave her friend one last smile, and she knew that he'd be all right. Tirithon, son of Torion, would do just fine.

* * *

That week spent in Imladris was marked with bliss and love. It was a time of healing in many ways for not only her, but also for her beloved King and her friend. She spent most of her time with Éomer and Erfréa, talking of everything that had happened ever since their parting back in March. All of it seemed to have happened a lifetime ago.

The stories Éomer and Erfréa told were grand tales: the events of the war and all that had happened since took quite a while to conclude satisfyingly. They also spoke of everything they knew of Lothíriel, her time in Edoras and before it, in an attempt to help her remember. Sometimes, it was easier: a single word could bring back so much that she would have to sit down for a while and just try to wrap her mind about it. She'd even remember unrelated things, even memories her beloved and her friend knew nothing of. But it was not that easy all the time, and no matter how much the two Rohirs described something, she could grasp nothing.

Lord Elrond said it was probably nothing to be worried about; a smile would appear on his face and he'd tell her that perhaps everything that was needed was just time.

"Do not rush your healing, child. You have come a long road, but there's still ways to go yet. You must have patience", said the Half-elven lord. Though he was probably right, it was not an easy thing, not when Lothíriel felt so tired of all the waiting.

They were eager to hear why Lothíriel had ridden away that night she had disappeared, of course, and for a while she feared she might not ever remember that. She did not even know if she _wanted _back that memory. She had hard time remembering Móna too; though she could see the girl's face in her mind's eye, the thought of her was painful... and Lothíriel knew there was hurt in that memory, perhaps still too much for her to handle. Still, Móna was something she spoke of with Erfréa, though mostly it was the Rohir woman who talked, speaking of their shared friend. And when it became too much, they switched to other, lighter topics, and Lothíriel would entertain her friend with stories of all that she had seen in Rivendell.

While the two friends sat talking, Éomer often spent his time in conversations with Bilbo, as the old Halfling was eager as ever to hear of distant lands. The sight of the two of them – a large warrior of Rohan and a small frail hobbit sitting deep in discussions – was almost absurd. Tirithon also became something of a regular sparring companion for the young King, and for the men of his éored, the chance to train with the elves was more than welcome. Éothain and Glorfindel were seen having riding contests more than just once, and Éomer commented with no small amount of chuckles that he did not know which one of them looked more excited. Altogether the laughing, loud-voiced Rohirrim seemed to have the whole house in uproar.

But not all the time was spent in speaking of past: there was also the dream of spring. Together they wandered in the gardens, beautiful even in winter, and Lothíriel felt like they had somehow found a secret path to Valinor and were roaming through the Blessed Realm all alone. She could see contentment in his eyes and she realized that this was a rare moment of leisure for him. As the King of Rohan he must have his hands full of work.

"'Tis a beautiful place. I now fully understand why so many stories are told of Master Elrond's house", he commented as they strolled slowly under the trees.

"You seem to know much of elves and their ways", Lothíriel remarked.

"My late Aunt Lótesse heard much of them during her visits to Gondor... She loved the tales of the old times and she gathered as much knowledge of them as was humanly possible. After my sister and I moved to Edoras, she would often tell us the stories she had heard. I cannot blame her, now that I have seen Rivendell. She would have loved to see this place... Pity that she never did", Éomer answered.

"We are blessed, indeed. The elves are leaving these shores... Soon they will all be gone. At least we had one glimpse of their grace and beauty", she said. He smiled at her.

"Should I be worried that there is some handsome Elven lord here waiting to sweep you off on a white boat of his?" he asked. Lothíriel laughed, though she had seen the slightly worried looks he'd sometimes give Glorfindel – even if the elf's manners towards her were much alike to those of an older brother.

"Not that I know off. Anyway, I would rather be swept off on a horse – preferably one that you are riding", she said lightly.

"That can be arranged immediately, my lady. When would it be most convenient for you to be whisked away? And is there any particular place where you'd like me to take you?" he asked and took her in his arms. She smiled up at him, and her affection for him expanded inside her.

"To the stars", Lothíriel whispered.

His kiss very nearly did that.

* * *

At last their stay had to end: Éomer had to return his kingdom, and it would have been cruel to keep her family waiting while they two were nestled in this happiness and light. Gathering their things for departure, Lothíriel began to understand it was unlikely that she would see these halls again, nor would she see Master Elrond or Bilbo (as for Glorfindel, he had decided to come and ride with them as far as Isengard, to meet with Treebeard). So, as hard it was for her to be away from Éomer, she did try to spend some of her waning time with the old Halfling and the legendary Half-elven lord. Bilbo shared his last stories with her while Master Elrond gave her some precious insights to his ancient wisdom. Her path had crossed the ones these people were travelling on, but only for a short while, and still she knew that she'd keep them in her heart for as long as she lived.

The day of leaving was misty and chilly, but in the warmth of her clothes Lothíriel barely noticed that. Even Bilbo had risen early and come out to bid farewell to her. She spent a long moment saying goodbye to him and it was harder than she'd have known. Only when it was time to leave did she understand how fond she had become of the old hobbit. But Bilbo, as ever, was just smiles as she placed one last kiss on the palm of his hand.

"Oh, do not fret for such an ancient thing as I am. You are young and the world is yours now. I am happy to see you finally smile a bit and look so happy. It brings me joy to know that you shall not be alone, but safe and loved with your King", Bilbo said with a gentle smile. Swallowing her tears, she planted a kiss on his forehead, then moving over to Tirithon. It was equally hard to say goodbye to him, and he hugged her tight for a long time while she mumbled a litany of thank yous. Then, through his tears he told her that he'd travel south some time soon and come to see her when he did. Then he gently pushed her forwards and muttered something about not making this any longer than it had to be. Last but not least, Lothíriel came face to face with Lord Elrond, who stood tall and majestic, but also wearing a kind smile.

"I cannot thank you enough, my lord, for all the ways you have helped me. I... I am grateful for the time I have been permitted to spend here. I will cherish your wisdom always and take care that my children shall know what you did for me", she said, the lump in her throat becoming more forceful by the second.

"My blessings to you, child. There is light upon your road – may it never falter again", he said.

Lothíriel curtsied deep and then she turned to Éomer. He offered her his hand and she took it, finding the strength she needed in the warm pressure of his calloused fingers; she was ready to move on. She would leave the shadows behind and perhaps it was finally a time for the future and life with her King.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this all goes rather fast, but even when I was first writing this story, I did not think it a good idea to extend their stay in Rivendell too much. After all, the conflict here has been settled and mostly it would just be padding. Nevertheless I've largely revised this chapter, especially because I realised Lothíriel would be emotionally much more vulnerable than she was in the original version.

Just to make it clear: I've not forgotten Aradhain. I know people are anxious to see him get his due, but I will have to ask you to be patient for now.

As for Lothíriel's family and when they'll get to see her again - all in good time.

Thanks for reading and comments!


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 24**

The road back to Rohan was long and uneventful, but Lothíriel felt serene and content as they rode south towards Edoras. Now it was time for peace, for moving on, and she did not want to let the shadows linger anymore.

As for Éomer, sometimes he would still glance at her with this dubious expression on his face, like he was checking if she really was there. When he'd look like that, she'd smile at him and take his hand in hers, to reassure him that she was not going to disappear.

"I expect myself to wake up in Edoras all the time, and to realize all this has been just an insane but beautiful dream", he confessed when they were having supper one night. "I still can't believe you really are alive and with me."

"Well, luckily I have a lot of time to assure of you that I truly am here with you", she said, smiling. After supper, he took her in his arms as they sat by the fire. She rested her head on his shoulder, letting her mind wander and losing herself to these precious moments_. _Mostly, others left them alone when they were like this, because apparently it was way too cute for anyone to watch too closely. With an insufferable grin on her face, Erfréa said she constantly feared her teeth would rot away when she looked at the two love-birds for too long.

A thing that confused Lothíriel at first was the way he seemed so careful sometimes, especially when he touched her. It was as if he thought she would not welcome his touch. When she asked what it was about, this hesitant look came to his face, and quietly he told her how he had feared that she wouldn't recognise him... that her love had died in the wilderness, and she only let him close because she thought it was expected of her. At that, she had wrapped her arms about him and hugged him tight, and told him again to trust her.

"I did not lie when I said you're not one of the uncertain things. I did not realise it before, but now I am starting to understand that I was waiting for you even when I did not know your name. It's _you _that finally brought me back, and for that only I'd love you. Trust me, like I trust you", she told him, and he relaxed and hugged her tight. After that, there was no more hesitation in his affection, and its full warmth made her feel like she was the most loved woman to live.

Though there was much tenderness in their relationship now, he did not share her tent or bed. It was obvious how much he wanted to do that, though, and Lothíriel herself decided she'd have liked having him there, to curl up against him and let his presence chase the nightmares away (Erfréa might have minded, though). The first time she had woken up sobbing, he had appeared as soon as her friend had summoned him and sat with her through the night, as if his own rest and endurance meant nothing.

The next evening when they made camp, she had asked him to stay with her for the night, but he had given her this pointed look and quietly told her he had no idea if he could resist her if he was to stay so close to her. And, looking back at him, Lothíriel knew she would not have been able to resist _him _either.

"It would not do if I had you pregnant before we are even married! I imagine your father would not be very pleased with me", he said dryly and Lothíriel blushed. She did not mind the idea of bearing his children, but it would indeed be rather awkward if she were heavily pregnant by the time her family got to see her again.

"I cannot wait until we finally can start our lives together", Lothíriel sighed. "Father will probably want me in Dol Amroth for a while before he'll let me marry you."

"We must be patient, min léofe. You need to spend some time with your family after being parted from them for so long", he commented and stroke her hair absent-mindedly. "It is probably for the best, anyway. In case you..."

"In case I what?" she asked when he would not speak up.

"You start to regret", he said quietly and suddenly looked like he actually feared that would happen. Lothíriel groaned.

"Oh, stop that already!" she said and kissed him so that it was only Erfréa's intensely uncomfortable fit of coughing that brought them back. By then, Éomer looked thoroughly convinced.

Nevertheless, Lothíriel was worried of how it would be when she'd meet again her family. She remembered them now, their faces and all these little moments that had been lost. She could recall Father's voice and long afternoons spent with Amrothos by the sea, and how he had always enjoyed bickering with Erchirion... and Elphir and Aredhel and how happy the two of them had been on that day they were married. It made her heart ache when she thought of them, and she wished she could have raced south and hug them all close to her.

"It has been over year and a half! Will I even recognize them when I see them again? It will be a wonder if my father ever lets me out of his sight again", she sighed and shook her head. "I miss them so much..."

"You will see them again soon", Éomer promised, kissing the top of her head. "I was thinking... should we stay in Edoras and send a messenger to deliver a word of your survival? Or should we ride down to Dol Amroth to meet your family there?"

"It will only take longer if we send a messenger. I think I would prefer going straight to Dol Amroth. It would probably be easier for us to move rather than all of my family to come running to Edoras with their heads over their heels. Father will want me to come home for a while anyway. And you would get to see my home again", Lothíriel said after considering his words for a moment.

"My advisers will not like that one bit. They would rather have me in Edoras where they can torment me all times", the young king muttered.

"They will just have to bear. I have you now and I do not think I will give you back", she smiled.

"I would not have it any other way."

* * *

The memory of that night came to her in a dream. Past days, her memories had been gradually returning, though there were still times when she needed Éomer or Erfréa's help to remember some things. Perhaps it was because of this recovery, or just the sight of familiar plains that brought it back. Though she knew her beloved and her friend were anxious to know what precisely had happened on the night she had disappeared, Lothíriel herself had quietly hoped she'd never remember it.

But perhaps it was something she had to remember, if only to make her peace with what had happened... and so, that night when they were a day's ride from te Fords of Isen, Lothíriel dreamt of the night when Móna had died and the princess herself had gotten lost in the wild.

It was vivid, like the dreams she had had before Éomer and his éored had ridden to Rivendell. She could even hear the words of her desperate, crazed friend... and when she rode after the girl, the whipping of the wind was so _real. _It was all so clear now, how they had ridden into the night and she had tried to catch her friend. And so was the pain in her shoulder as they were attacked. At the sight of Móna falling from the saddle, an arrow through her throat, Lothíriel finally came out of it with a scream.

Erfréa jumped up, hair sticking to every direction and looking thoroughly disoriented, and asked in half-coherent Rohirric where was the fire. Then Éomer came running with Éothain right on his heels, both with swords in their hands. And judging by the noises coming from outside, the whole éored had woken up by the princess' scream and were preparing for battle.

It took a long moment and sips from Glorfindel's flask of _miruvor_ to get everyone calm down. Éomer's riders went back to sleep, which was moderately easy for them; they had long since mastered the art of sleeping virtually everywhere. But Lothíriel did not particularly care for sleep at the moment, nor did Erfréa despite the older woman's suggestions. As for Éomer, it'd have been foolish to think he'd even consider rest at the moment. Glorfindel cast a look at the three of them and sniffed, looking a bit like a brisk aunt of much abused children (it reminded Lothíriel of Aunt Ivriniel so much that she almost burst out into a hysterical laughter).

"I think we all could use a bit of tea with another dash of that _miruvor", _he decided in a tone that suffered no arguments, and it was not before long they were shuffling about a small fire, cups in their hands... and finally, warmed up by tea and the Elven drink, Lothíriel began to tell her beloved and her friends of that night she had lost her way.

* * *

Though the air was brisk and chilly that morning, the skies were very clear and there was no sign of clouds overhead. If they kept up good pace, they would probably reach Aldburg by nightfall. Before that, Glorfindel would leave the company once they'd reach the Fords of Isen, from where he would continue up to Isengard. Éomer had asked whether the elf was comfortable making that journey all alone; he could spare few of his men to accompany Glorfindel safely to the tower where the wizard had once ruled. The golden-haired elf had smiled and thanked for the offer, but said he would be perfectly fine.

At first, the sight of Glorfindel by Lothíriel's side had made Éomer feel more than just a little inadequate. Well, Glorfindel was an elf, and very noble at that. Before, he'd barely paid any attention, but things had been different then... and though he knew he ought to trust her, sometimes the young king was worried she might have changed, and that her affection of now was only an emotional reaction of finally seeing a familiar face. It had been similar with Tirithon. But when he had observed the elf and the young Dúnadan with her, and especially how she had interacted with the two, he had soon realised how foolish his fears were. And deep down, he was ashamed for not trusting her.

So, in the end his fears and hesitation had been replaced by gratitude for knowing that Glorfindel and Tirithon had been there for her, and she had not been alone.

Concentrating on readying Firefoot – or trying to concentrate – he kept glancing at Lothíriel, who was packing up her things while chatting with Erfréa. She looked tired of course, but that was to be expected after last night's commotion. Her troubled sleeping worried her, as did the story she had told them last night. She had remained calm through it, but he had seen the pain in her eyes, and he wasn't so sure she was all right. His beloved was in a vulnerable place right now and he felt so useless for not knowing how to help her.

Glorfindel appeared almost as if a ghost from nowhere; his light Elven feet barely made a sound.

"So you see it too, my friend", said the elf, looking somewhere far and wearing a face as if they had just been talking about weather.

"I do", Éomer answered and stared at his hands at Firefoot's saddle. "I am worried."

"She's made of strong stuff, my friend. I think she'll be fine... in time", Glorfindel said quietly. "Just be there for her when she needs you."

"I will. I gave up on her once, and I'm not going to do that again", said the King gravely.

"That is good to hear. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?" asked his friend. "Between the two of us, I do not think what we heard last night is all there is to her disappearance."

"Do you mean to say she did not tell the truth?" Éomer asked, turning to look at the elf.

"No, no. I'm sure Lothíriel told us all she remembers. That is my point, Éomer. You told me of that captain who said he had seen her dead, and yet she mentioned nothing of him in her story. She never said she saw the man or fell unconscious at any point. To be honest, it bothers me and from your look I can tell you feel the same. Her story is not yet complete, my friend, and I think in her dreams she remembers more than in waking world, so listen well when she speaks of them. Call It instinct or what you will, but I believe something more happened that night when she was lost. I cannot tell what it might be, but it could be important", Glorfindel said quietly, and his face was serious when he returned the young king's gaze. He rested his hand briefly on Éomer's shoulder. "Just look after her."

"That I will, my friend", vowed the Lord of the Mark. A small smile touched the elf's face, and then he left to make sure his own things were ready for journey.

They always said elves could see more than eyes would perceive. And even among their blessed kind, Glorfindel was exceptionally gifted and far-sighted. The King of Rohan would pay careful heed to his words.

* * *

At the Fords of Isen, they bid farewell to Glorfindel. He could not tell how long he'd stay in Isengard, but he promised he'd come to visit Edoras before he would ride back to Rivendell – he said he was even thinking a trip down to Minas Tirith.

"I'm halfway down there anyway", he said with a smile. Lothíriel hugged him many times before she was able to let go, and she knew she was going to miss his easy smiles and serene presence. After the last hug, and exchanging some quiet words with Éomer, he lifted his hand in a goodbye and urged his horse towards north, whereas the King's Company continued towards Helm's Deep – they would spend the night there, as Éomer had decided all of them could use some extra rest in proper accommodations.

It was odd to think that he was a king now, no longer a "mere Third Marshal". He was his own lord and master, and each day Lothíriel could see how his men adored him. Though they all seemed to be fond of jest, sometimes even on the expense of their king, theirs was unrelenting loyalty and trust. Many of these men had followed Éomer to the Black Gate and would have done so again had he just asked. Éomer was not only respected for his skills as a warrior, but he was also a fair and just king. Another thing that she had begun to notice ever since Rivendell was something like relief on the faces of his riders; at first she had not understood it, not at least until Éothain had once lain his hand on her shoulder and told her how glad he was that she was alive.

"You have made our king happy, Princess. And in doing so, you have given the Mark a gift of life, for which you will be thanked for many times yet", Éothain had said softly. That had put the merriness of the King's Company into another perspective entirely.

And soon, hopefully, she would be Éomer's Queen. It was almost an absurd thing to think of – she as the Lady of the Mark! She had not really dared to think of it back when the War of the Ring had still been raging on and his uncle had made him the heir to the throne, for allowing such fantastic visions to herself would have only hurt more if he had not returned. But now that future was almost at hand – at least as soon as her father would permit her to marry Éomer.

How would she fare as the mistress of Meduseld? Surely she would mess up everything! Then again, Éomer's current housekeeper, Léah as he had called her, would surely help her. And then there was Erfréa who would assist her. Everything would go well. After all, she would have Éomer by her side. With him, she was ready to face anything... and running the King's household _really _couldn't be worse than some things she had been through.

* * *

They arrived to Helm's Deep before sunset. It was strange to be there again after so long. Lothíriel could vaguely remember when she had left it in last March: little had she known what journey was ahead of her. Signs of war were not gone, as the bodies of those slain in battle had been buried under a large mound, and the reparations of the Deeping Wall were still in progress.

Lothíriel wanted to visit Móna's grave, hoping that would bring some sort of closure. Last night, after she had recited the story of her disappearance and Éomer had finally told them to go to bed, Lothíriel and Erfréa had stayed up, talking quietly in their tent. Most of their conversation had consisted of Móna, whose fate bothered her a lot. She felt that Móna's death was somehow her fault – that if she had acted differently, her friend might still be alive.

Erfréa, however, disagreed.

"I think she was already gone and I doubt we could have done anything. If anyone is to be blamed, it is me. I should have seen it, should have known that something like that would happen. I was supposed to know her thoroughly, yet I could not even see how sick she was. You did the best you could to help her. But sometimes that is not just enough", Erfréa had said, her face very serious. She had regained some of her happiness after finding Lothíriel again, but the princess doubted Erfréa would ever be quite the same as she had been before.

"Perhaps it was mercy for her to die", Lothíriel had whispered quietly, even if that was an unhappy thing to think of.

"Perhaps", Erfréa had commented, and there was so much pain in her eyes that the princess hugged her tight. They had both cried themselves to sleep that night.

Gimli, son of Glóin, had brought a company of his own people to aid in repairing the Deeping Wall. Éomer promised they would meet the dwarf later, after visiting Móna's grave. Erfréa would have probably come with them but the woman saw how the pair needed to pay this visit alone, so she went over to see her mother and to deliver the joyous message of Lothíriel's safe return.

As Erfréa had ordered, fresh flowers were brought to Móna's grave every day. It was a beautiful round stone, similar to the one that lay on Háma's tomb. The carving was simple, but on the other hand, no elegance was needed to forward the feeling of loss.

_Móna, daughter of Háma_

_3000 – 3019, T. A. _

_Now we are free._

Lothíriel could not help the tears that steamed down her face, the grief that filled her heart. She tried to think that at least Móna was at peace now. Perhaps she had found Théodred outside the confines of the World.

Éomer held her tightly, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"Do you think she is with your cousin now?" the princess asked.

"I would like to think that she is. My cousin... he rarely spoke of his emotions, but one could tell he had a lot of affection for her. It is a pity that their love could not find a way in this life", Éomer said softly.

"It comforts me, to think that she's happier now. I just... I keep wondering if there was anything I could have done for her", Lothíriel mumbled. Her voice was thick with tears she was trying to hold back.

"Beloved, it is not your fault", he reminded her.

"I hope that is true", she whispered and closed her eyes.

After fighting back her emotions she finally spotted the other mound beside Móna's. Curiously, Lothíriel went over to see it and gasped at the sight of her own name.

"It was Erfréa's idea – to have a place of memorial for you here. Your disappearance was just as hard for her as it was for me... We both needed a place to 'visit' you. I came here as often as I could", Éomer explained. "I promise to have it destroyed. There's no need for that ghastly thing now."

Not trusting her voice, she nodded and quickly turned her back to the stone. After final apologetic glance at Móna's tomb she took his hand in her own and they started towards the fortress.

_Sleep well, sister._

* * *

**A/N: **This is another chapter I've heavily edited lately. In fact, my slower updating speed is just because of that: these later chapters require a lot of editing and even rewriting. Sadly I must say that the next chapter may take just as long as this one did, or maybe even longer. So I ask patience of you.

As you probably already realised yourselves, Lothíriel does partly remember that night when she got lost, but not entirely. So Aradhain still remains in shadow. You may be wondering what he's up to at the moment, but I promise we'll get to that.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Wondereye - **Well, if it just depended on him, he _wouldn't _have let her out of his sight. But as I try to illustrate in this chapter, he's unsure of how much closeness she's capable and willing to take. At that first night especially he doesn't really know if she really remembers how close they used to be. So he is kind of scared that he might scare her or upset her. Also, he fears that her allowing his affections is only an emotional reaction to seeing the first familiar face ever since she got lost, and that she'd regret it later. So while he is anxious not to let her go, he does it because he's not sure if she's the same Lothíriel he used to know - the one who would want to have him there. But his restlessness is precisely the reason he comes up to check on her and so he hears her crying.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"Éomer King is back! Éomer King is back! He brings Princess Lothíriel with him! Princess Lothíriel is raised from the dead!"

Those were the shouts that greeted the King's Company when they finally reached Edoras. The guards had spotted the royal banner from afar; as Éomer and his riders rode up the hill, the sides of the road to Meduseld were crowded with people. There was cheer in the air and Lothíriel's heart beat fast with joy. Such a welcome would have touched anyone, though she knew it must have been in good part because of how Éomer was beaming. She was only starting to understand what grief her beloved had felt for her alleged death... and what unhappiness it had brought his people to see their King so in pain. However, the time of sadness was now over.

It seemed that all of the King's household had come out to greet the returning monarch. Many of the faces Lothíriel remembered were gone, and she knew they had fallen on the fields of Pelennor side by side with Théoden. Men from Éomer's own éored had replaced those who had perished. Of course, there were many familiar faces, too, especially among the servants and the common folk. Lothíriel was deeply touched when Master Flód came to her, silent tears streaming down his usually so solemn face, and hugged her tight for a long time. Her beloved seemed to be busy beaming blissfully at every direction at once. The Princess even heard old Gamling asking his King: "Who are you and what have you done with our gloomy king?"

That earned a hearty laugh from the Lord of the Mark.

"I think I lost him somewhere along the way, old friend. Look for him in the wild, if you truly want him back", Éomer said and cast a fond glance at Lothíriel. She smiled at him and came to his side, and he took her hand in his. When she looked up at him, it was a strange thing to realise that it was the first time they were together in Edoras without needing to conceal their affection. Even stranger it was to remember that the last time she had seen him here, he had been behind bars.

It was not long after their arrival that an endless flood of well-wishers cornered the princess, who was touched to see that the people of Edoras remembered her so fondly. Gamling was one of the people who came to speak with her; the old captain smiled gently at her and held her hands in his, and she noted that long age had not taken the strength or steadiness of his grip.

"It truly is a good thing to see you again, my lady. It feels like you have brought an early spring with you", said the aged Rohir, and his words made her smile.

"Thank you, captain. You are too kind", she said softly. "If I've brought a promise of summer with me, it is only because it rode to Rivendell to find me."

"Well, I suppose two winters met each other and their child was spring", Gamling said. Who'd have expected such poetry in an old warrior? She meant to speak, but the captain was faster than her: "Pity that you did not come sooner. Some of your own people were here not so long ago – a certain Captain Aradhain among them. He was the commander of your guard while you stayed here in Edoras. Do you remember him?"

"I... no, not really", Lothíriel said, her voice going faint. Surely she should remember this man? Éomer had spoken well of him, though briefly. Her beloved had also said that Aradhain had been with her and he had thought her dead. That had made her feel uneasy somehow, for she could not remember such thing happening.

"You'll probably meet him once you ride to Dol Amroth. Though between the two of us, I believe he has become a little strange after the night you were lost. Sometimes injuries like his does that to a man", Gamling noted. Now she was starting to feel a bit nauseous, but she fought to keep that feeling at bay.

"What injury? And how do you mean he has become strange?" she asked.

"Unfortunately the captain lost his eye on that night in a battle... it looked one vicious injury, but otherwise he survived unharmed. Anyway, he came here with the intention of introducing some negotiations to Éomer King, but since my lord was not in residence, the captain was left waiting. He insisted on travelling back south only couple of days after his arrival here. They took the Dimholt Road, which is faster than going via Mundburg, but it was still a trip wasted. Well, it's his business and he probably had his reasons", Gamling said and shrugged, but then he took note of the look on her face, and in disquietude he asked: "Are you ill, my lady?"

As if he possessed some sixth sense or over-sensitive hearing, Éomer appeared by her side. And it was a good thing that he did, for Lothíriel suddenly felt faint and took support of his arm.

"What is wrong?" asked the King with no little concern. Gamling looked equally alarmed, following them as his lord gingerly helped her to sit down on a bench nearby. As soon as she was sat and had her beloved by her side, Lothíriel started to feel better.

"I'm fine. I just felt a bit faint for a moment. It's probably because of all the exhaustion", she said and gave the men a consoling smile.

"She should probably have something to eat. And a good night's rest. You've been on the road for a while, after all", Gamling noted, and the two of them would probably have kept on fussing about her like two hyper-excited mother hens hadn't Erfréa appeared then to whisk her away with a promise of bath. The dear girl already handled everything with little hassle and a healthy dose of practicality, which was very welcome.

The supper of that evening was merry and festive, as could be expected of the Rohirrim. After all, it was not every day that someone taken for dead rose from their graves to walk with the living again. Though Lothíriel rather liked the idea of crawling into a bed and sleeping for couple of days, she was also reluctant to go to bed yet. For one, the atmosphere of joy felt too good, and there was much catching up to do with the people she knew from the King's household. Sometimes she noticed the more or less incredulous glances cast at her direction too; it seemed that the people of Meduseld shared their King's fear that she might disappear if they did not look at her often enough. Nevertheless, this place was so familiar and evoked memories of past, and Lothíriel found she felt at ease in these halls. Coming here had been like coming home.

But one thing felt peculiar, even wrong in a way, and that was the absence of Éowyn. It was odd not to see her here anymore. The older woman had appeared always to be more like a part of the house and this place, and her absence seemed to leave the King's house somehow incomplete.

"I will write to her as soon as I can and ask her and your cousin to come meet us in Minas Tirith. Both of them will be so happy to see you well and alive", Éomer had promised her as they had been nearing Meduseld. Lothíriel still could barely believe what adventures had come across Éowyn's path: riding to war in disguise, killing the Lord of Nazgûl, falling in love with Faramir... Though she was sad that Éowyn had left Edoras, she was all the gladder for knowing that her friend had finally found some happiness in this life.

"I wish I could have been at their wedding. I am sure she made a beautiful bride", Lothíriel had commented.

"That she was, and more than beautiful, she was happy. Though I must say that the ladies of Gondor were very sad to see her snatching the Steward right from the front of their noses", Éomer had smiled. "Rohan may have given Gondor one of her most revered jewels, but perhaps we will be receiving something equally dazzling in turn..."

The supper (or banquet) seemed to go on forever, and finally Lothíriel started to droop on her spot, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

"You look tired. You should go to sleep", Éomer said quietly.

"Will you be fine on your own?" the princess asked and suppressed a large yawn.

"I will. Although of course I will be missing you, but that is just what I always do when you are not with me", he said and placed a kiss on her forehead.

After telling him goodnight, she made her way to the bedchamber. It was the same one she had vacated during her stay here, and though the room had been cleaned and aired, she had a feeling no one had slept here ever since she had ridden to Hornburg. That was a strange thought.

She knew most of her belongings had been sent to Dol Amroth, but on the bed, there were the few things that remained. First, there was her bow, and with a smile she picked it up, running her fingers over the wood. It still brought her a feeling of security – that there was strength in her, despite everything. Perhaps she could go and try it again some day soon.

Her eyes fell on the gown that had been laid there, which was a welcome sight too. Most of her other clothes were in a need of wash after the long journey from Rivendell, so a fresh gown was something she could appreciate. Finally, she picked up the Rohirric blade.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared at the weapon in her lap for a long time. Sheathed in brown leather, it was made in the style of the Mark. Around the hilt, there was dark leather and it's guard had the familiar horse heads Rohirrim were so fond of. As she pulled the dagger from its sheath, the steel glimmered in the candlelight. The weapon's feel and weight was familiar in her hand... _Éomer had given it to her. _

Lothíriel could then remember that day when he had placed this dagger in her hands and looked at her seriously. He had said: _"This way, at least something of me can be there to protect you."_

She had never shown it to her aunt of course, knowing it would only make her shocked that someone – and the King's nephew of all people – would give the young princess something like it. Lothíriel had hidden the blade in her things and she had never told anyone about it. But sometimes when she was alone she'd still practise with it, especially after Amrothos had shown her some of the moves he had learned during his sparring lessons. When the day had come for her to return to Rohan, she had packed it along with her other things.

The blade had been with her when she had ridden to Edoras, and she had always worn it under her cloak... after Aldburg, it seemed all the more crucial for her to be armed. Éowyn had seen she was carrying a dagger, being the keen-eyed woman she was, and the Shieldmaiden had even taught her how to use it. And then... there had been that one night after Théodred's death. She shivered as she remembered the noises behind her door. She had grabbed her blade and it had instantly made her feel calmer, almost as if Éomer himself had been there with her.

The princess had left much of her belongings behind when she had ridden to Hornburg, but the dagger came along. That fateful day of battle, when the womenfolk was gathering in the caves, she had at last moment ran to get her

blade... just to be sure, she had told herself, though she had not been sure for _what._ Back then, there had been no guarantee of how things would turn out. Granted, most of her night had been spent in looking after the wounded – at least until they breached the Deeping Wall and Éomer's men had taken shelter in the caves. There, in the chaos of the battle and in the noise of the battering ram, she had chosen to stay with her Marshal, even though it had looked like inevitable death. But death had not been what was store in for them that night.

And she had carried the blade on that day when... when...

Móna racing away, the attack in the dark, the death of poor daughter of Háma, and the arrow in Lothíriell's shoulder...

She had ridden into the darkness... but that had not been all of it, had it? Her fingers curled yet again around the hilt of the dagger, and the last time she had wielded it came to her. Her fingers had been slippery, but the feel of the leather as her hand had frantically gripped for it had given him the first sensation of hope she had felt that night. Amrothos and Éowyn had taught her, but when she had slashed with it, her attack had been desperate and clumsy and it was a wonder she had ever even succeeded...

_The weight of his body over her. Her hands struggling to push him away, and him pinning her down. His hot breath on her face, and the growling sound he had made... _

Oh, she had hurt so much, her shoulder had been on fire, yet she had cut at his face, and he had howled in pain as he rolled away. And she had run, for her fear had given her wings. Into the wild she had ridden until her horse would not carry her any farther, and she had been in pain, she had been scared, she had called for Éomer though she had known she wouldn't see him again... all because of one man...

_Aradhain. _

Lothíriel realised she was crying only when her tears turned into a wrenching sob. The blade dropped from her hands, she could scarcely breathe, and sobs became as cries now, _oh Valar... _it was too much, the agony of it, and all the terror and despair she had felt. She was gasping, she was nauseous, and there was a scream in the back of her throat – the memory was so vivid that it was as if the villain's hands were still on her... and the darkness! Oh, the vast despair of it, the certainty that she would die there and no one would ever know why!

Her cries and her terror and pain threatened to turn into shrieks, and she wished it all away; she wanted back the comfort of not remembering. But then the door was thrown open and with two long strides, _he _was beside her. And somehow, him just being there made it easier. _He would not let her stray again. _He pulled her against him and held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder. He seemed to understand that it was not a moment for questions, and instead he just let her shed what grief there was to torment her so.

And as painful it was to remember that night and the reason she had lost a year of her life, the amount of tears was not endless. After all, she was safe and she was with Éomer, and there was no sorrow she could dwell in for long when she was in his arms. So at last the final little sob turned into a long weary sigh that also released her tension.

When he saw that she had calmed down, he gently lifted her face to meet her eyes.

"What is wrong, beloved? What has upset you so?" he asked softly.

"Éomer, I..." Lothíriel started slowly, not quite trusting her voice. What should she say? Even as he watched her with that tender look in his eyes, she feared what it would set off if she told him just why she had been lost that night. _He would be so angry, and rightly so. _Aradhain deserved nothing less.

"Please, tell me", asked her King, and he looked so concerned... she knew how worried he still was for her, and this outburst of hers had done nothing to console him.

She had to tell him. He had the right to know the truth, and perhaps it would help them move on from this... this in-between place where, to be honest, she really didn't know if she was Lothíriel or Sídhadonnen... or if there was a place where those two women in her could exist in harmony.

But tonight she was so _tired. _Not physically, but emotionally. She just wanted him to stay with her, and to curl up against him and fall asleep listening to his voice, like she had done that first night when he had arrived to Rivendell. And Lothíriel had no idea if she could even talk of it yet without bursting into tears again.

"I just remembered something from... when I was lost", she said quietly at last, resting a hand on his cheek. "I did not mean to alarm you – I suppose I just wasn't prepared for it. It's fine. I feel better now."

"What did you remember?" he asked, searching her eyes and she could see how badly he wanted to know. _No. Don't ask this of me now. _

"I will tell you everything, I promise that. But not tonight. I... I can't do it now", she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Lothíriel..." he said at length, and he sounded so anxious that she almost blurted it all out. But perhaps there was something her eyes and face that moved him, for his dark eyes became gentle again. "It's fine. You'll speak when you feel comfortable."

"Thank you", said the princess, hoping he could see how grateful she was for his patience. She leant up to kiss him and he pulled her close to himself... how she ended up straddling his lap, she wasn't so sure, but suddenly she was there and his hands were about her as if he was attempting to become one with her; his beard scratched at her skin and her fingers tangled in his golden mane. His mouth tasted of ale he had drank before, and his kiss was so eager, so ardent. She answered with desperate need, holding on to him, and aching to be closer to him. They did often share kisses, but it was usually tender and sweet and careful – nothing like this at all.

It came to a stop when her hands stopped at the lacing of his tunic. He pulled back so that he could see her properly, and she looked back at him in silence. Lothíriel knew the look in his eyes, for it was the same as on the night before he had ridden for war. _He wanted her. _And she wanted him as well, so why not...

"Lothíriel", he called her name softly, pronouncing each syllable with such care, as if it was a prayer.

"Éomer", she answered, wondering to herself how a name could contain _so much. _Gently, she took his hands and placed them on her own breast; he let out a wavering breath. He looked up at her, and there was a question in his eyes.

"Are you certain?"

She knew why he asked that. It was for the same reason for which ever since Rivendell, he had been so careful when touching her... why she sometimes felt that he almost tiptoed around her as if she was scared of loud noises. Somehow, he had gotten it in his head that she might come to regret it later if she let him close and returned his affection. Oh, if only she could make him see! Maybe this way, she _could._

And so she smiled and gave him a small kiss.

"I am", she said softly. "This could very well be our only chance before we are married, and there's no telling when that day will come. I... I'd like to be with you tonight."

His kiss was all the answer she needed. And the flames were there once again, like there had been on that night before he had ridden to war and she had feared they might never meet again. Yet here he was, alive and with her, and the feel of him was something she realised she had missed only when she felt it again... the dazzling sense of closeness, of being not two, but _one... _

At some point, he asked in worry why she was crying, and if he had hurt her. But she smiled and let out a teary little laughter.

"I cry because I am happy."

* * *

Éothain heard her humming before she appeared, sounding a bit like she may have had a bit too much of mead. Well, who could blame her? It had been one festive night in Meduseld and he reckoned there would be seen many pale and tired faces the next morning. But it was a welcome change to all the brooding that had saturated the air here for so long. And anyway, it was a good thing to see Erkenbrand's daughter so happy. Not that Éothain would have admitted that to anybody, but Erfréa had been kind of scary ever since March.

"Evening, captain!" she hollered when she saw him, sitting guard not far from the Princess' chamber door.

"Evening? It's more night than evening, I think", he answered, "and all the more reason for you to make yourself familiar with your bed."

"Oh, I intend to get extremely familiar with my bed, but not before I've told Lothíriel good night!" Erfréa announced with an air of someone who might shove their boot down your throat if you told them no. She started for the Princess' door, again picking up that tune she had been singing.

"No, you don't! She is already fast asleep as you should be too. She won't thank you for waking her up", Éothain said and quickly stood up to cut the girl's way.

For a moment, she looked like she was trying to come up with something to argue with, but what do you tell to a stubborn human wall taller and larger than you? So finally Erkenbrand's daughter harrumphed and made a face at the him.

"Hmph. Fine", she said somewhat sourly. "But I still didn't get to say good night and I will tell her it's because of you."

"No, you didn't, because you were too busy with the drinking horns", Éothain said with a charming smile. Not that he minded her drinking. A woman who could keep up with a man was something he appreciated.

"Ha! You're the last person who should lecture me about drinking horns!" she scoffed, no doubt remembering those days of Yules past when she had seen him crawling from the stall of his horse, but then Erfréa's face turned suspicious. "Why aren't you swimming in one at the moment, by the way? Who told you to sit guard at Lothíriel's door at this time of night?"

"The King", answered the captain quickly. Well, Éomer had not exactly said the word, but... he knew his lord would be grateful for him sitting guard tonight and getting rid of people like Erfréa.

"The King?" she echoed, cocking her head. "Why would he tell his captain to stand guard when he has plenty of other men to do that? Where is his lordship, anyway? I saw him leave the hall some time ago, but he never came back."

"He is busy", Éothain blurted out before he could think of a proper excuse.

"Busy with what at this time of night?" Erfréa asked, and now there was suspicion in her eyes.

"That is none of your business. Now get going before I tell him to send you back to Hornburg", he threatened, though it sounded weak even to himself.

The girl stared hard at him and looked like she was about to say something, when suddenly her eyes became very wide, and her mouth a formed an "o" of surprise.

"Oh! I see! The King mustn't be disturbed then", she giggled and a large grin took the place of surprise on her face. "About the damn time, if you ask me! Those two have been pining for each other way too long anyway."

"Erfréa! That is not true!" Éothain exclaimed in shock, trying fast to come up with something that would make her think that what was happening in the Princess' chamber was not actually happening. "He's just... um, talking with her. She was very upset and, hmm, needed consolation."

As if to verify his words, a particularly loud moan came from the bedchamber, and Éothain wanted to bury his face in his palms. _Oh Béma. _All of Edoras would know by morning!

"Yes. Consolation", said the insufferable girl and grinned again. "Don't worry, captain. I won't tell anyone. I know how prudish they are about things like that in Gondor, and that her father would be angry if he knew. Really, that is something none of us need to deal with. For one, I think Edoras has seen quite enough of our King's impressive brooding, and there's never going to be an end to it if Lothig's father decides there has been an insult or other such nonsense and won't to let them marry."

The captain looked at her in surprise and confusion. He'd have thought someone like Erfréa would never be able to keep a secret like that. Apparently there was a lot for him to learn about this girl.

"That is... well. Good", he managed, and she patted his arm.

"You continue your guard, rider!" she said cheerfully, sauntered back towards the hall, and even prevented couple of drunk riders in search of their king from seeking him further by telling them that Éomer had already retired and would receive no one tonight. Then she proceeded to challenge the two to a drinking game – an activity which effectively distracted everyone from wondering about the King's current location and occupation.

Quietly, Éothain thought to himself he could have kissed her right there.

* * *

It was the late afternoon on the next day that Lothíriel asked for a private audience with the King. Here in Edoras, everything was suddenly so much more complicated: while they had been on their way back to Rohan, Éomer had every day been close by, and getting his attention had not required any particular effort.

But having been on the road for some time and planning yet another potentially lengthy trip, Éomer was extremely busy arranging everything and making sure things would run smoothly during his absence. So she knew it was unlikely she'd have much time to spend with her as long as they stayed in Meduseld. It was strange and somehow unnerving, because he had been close ever since he had arrived to Rivendell.

However, when she quietly said that morning that she wished to speak of something very important – that important thing being the reason she had been lost – his face had become very serious and he had informed his advisers that for the afternoon, he would not attend to any matters of the realm.

Lothíriel was fairly sure he was going to be very angry once he heard, and so she asked him to meet her outside in the garden, so if there would be an explosion, it would take place outside and hopefully not many things or people would be damaged.

He arrived some time after her, striding as if he couldn't quite get fast enough to her. She felt bad for having to ruin his good mood; he had been so happy this morning when they had last seen each other, and it was no wonder to her why that was. Others assumed it was just because of her safe return, but of course they would know nothing of what the King of the Mark had been doing last night.

"Beloved", he greeted her as he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her forehead. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes", she said at length, quickly wondering if she should postpone telling it... but then, she knew it'd only get harder the longer she kept this to herself. The truth needed to be out. "Would you sit with me?"

He followed her and sat by her on the bench, studying her face intently. Quietly, Lothíriel picked up one of his hands, idly noting how much larger it was than hers as his fingers closed around her own. After considering it for a moment, she lifted her eyes and looked at him.

"I remember why I was lost that night, and it is not because I was wounded", she said softly, which instantly brought an alert and focused look on his face. Éomer sat a bit straighter and very silent, waiting for her to speak again.

Slowly at first, she began to describe how her horse had been spooked, and how she had struggled to stay in the saddle. She told of how the animal had madly galloped away, and how it had take such an effort to bring it to a halt. And then... what had happened next was very difficult to explain. Though she knew she was safe, speaking of Aradhain's betrayal still made her tremble.

And as she had known, her King was angry. No, he was _mad. _

Jumping up on his feet, he seemed to have grown even larger than he was, and his whole body seemed aglow with furious energy. Hands squeezing into fists and eyes blazing, he looked like he would have killed Aradhain with his bare hands had the man been here now. His face was dark with murderous hate when he practically jumped around and started for the steps, but she ran after him.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" she asked, and he only looked at her when she grabbed his arm.

"What do you think I'm going to do?! I am going to ride for Dol Amroth this moment and I will-" he growled, but she stepped in the front of her and placed her hands on his chest.

"No! You can't just go riding for south on a whim! Please! You have to calm down. What do you suppose he'd do if you'd barge in and attacked him in outrage? He's cunning – that's how he never got caught... he'd use your anger against you, and he could... he might kill you!" Lothíriel spoke quickly, and the mere possibility terrified her.

"Would you let that monster walk free then?! To think of all the times you were left with him... I trusted him with your life!" he raged and tried to push past Lothiriel, but she stepped on the front of him again and blocked his way. "Lothíriel, you need to let me go! I will kill him! I will cut his stomach open with a dull-"

"No. Please don't go", she said quietly, and perhaps there was something in her voice that got to him... for suddenly, his furious look turned into a concerned one – scared, even. Fury dissolved from his eyes and was replaced with softer expression. And there he was again, not the king or the warrior but the man she loved.

"I am sorry, my dear. I did not mean to upset you – my damned temper just got better of me", he vowed and wrapped his arms about her. "Did he hurt you?"

"He tried", she said quietly as she leant her head against his shoulder. "But I cut him and got away."

"By Béma, you will never know just how happy I am for giving you that dagger", he said and held her a bit tighter. "But I have to admit I rather admire your handiwork. You actually succeeded in stabbing him in his right eye. When I last saw him, he was wearing an eye-patch. And no wonder he gave me such hostile glares at times. I always thought he was just worried of your virtue and that I'd seduce you."

"Well, in way he _was. _He had this obsession about me, and you probably can guess what he wanted of me... He said he was... there on my door that night when we... when you stayed with me. He was quite mad about that", Lothíriel said softly, her voice almost failing. She felt him shiver and she thought he'd explode again, but this time he held his temper.

"I promise he won't get to you again. In fact, I'll make sure he's permanently incapable of getting to anyone. When we get to Dol Amroth, I will have his head on a plate and feed it to the fish", Éomer muttered darkly.

"You don't have to avenge me, dearest. I will be fine. It'll be enough to know that he can't hurt anyone else, and I'm sure my father will see to that once he hears", she said. Gradually, she was starting to feel a bit better. _Aradhain would not get to her again. _

"Imrahil might just help me with serving the head to the fish! And I believe your brothers should be there to applaud and play merry music while we are at it!" Éomer said, and she couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. But then he frowned, almost looking as if he might lash out again. "I believe I should contact your father and tell him to arrest that villain, though. I truly don't want the captain escaping the arm of justice."

"My father will wonder if you just send him the word to arrest the captain", she pointed out and rubbed her King's back to ease away at least some of the tension.

"Probably, but he'll hear all and more when we get to Dol Amroth", he said. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered: "I wonder if I could persuade Aragorn to let me handle the damned captain. I could use him as an orcbait."

"You impossible man", Lothíriel said, lifting her face so that she could look at him.

"And you tenacious, precious woman!" he said and sounded more peaceful now. He kissed her then and that went on for some time, and it was the desperation of his kiss and the tightness of his embrace that made her understand how deeply he shared her pain and fear. And so she whispered:

"Min Cyning. Min heorte. _Min sáwol!"_

* * *

**A/N:** And I return with an update! I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. It had to be largely rewritten and I confess in the end I just started to feel really frustrated and wanted it out of my hands. Anyway, the truth about Aradhain is out in the open now. What this will develop into will be seen later.

Working on these later chapters, I've noticed many if not most of them are at some parts kind of slow. I'll try to fix that but I'm not yet sure how. I'm thinking of merging a chapter or two but we'll see.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

_Min Cyning. = _My King.  
_Min heorte. = _My heart.  
_Min sáwol. = _My soul.

* * *

**Wtiger5** - I've actually grown rather fond of him, and I'm thinking of ways to put in some more of him. :D Maybe I'll even write something about him if my muse allows.

**Bright Watcher - **I'm glad to hear you think so! I'm constantly thinking if the emotional climate here is realistic and relatable, but I'm happy to hear I've succeeded. At least to me it seems they'd both be in a very sensitive place at this point anyway, what with getting used to each other again, and coming home, and the nightmares that still plague Lothíriel.

**Talia119 - **I can only answer that - at least until this chapter - there's multiple reasons for why don't resume to the earlier intimacy of their relationship. Like I've tried to illustrate, Éomer is still very unsure of how much she is willing to do, and he feels that it would be taking advantage of her vulnerable state to ask for physical love. So he'd rather wait until he is convinced that she is well that she really does love him like she used to. I think he's actually kind of scared that she might come to regret letting him so close. As for Lothíriel, she's really worried about the possibility of getting pregnant and how her father might react to that. Éomer is concerned by that too, and he has a lot of respect for Imrahil, so he doesn't want to do anything that might give her father a reason for doubt.

And there is also her family and their feelings to be considered. As much as Lothíriel and Éomer want to be married as soon as possible, they also agree that she has to go home after being away for so long. Not only would Imrahil and his sons be immensely hurt by a quick marriage so soon after her return, but it could also damage the friendship between the kingdoms.

There is also the fact that during their way back to Rohan, they're constantly surrounded by other people, and I don't think either of them would be too eager to do anything with the riders snoring only few feet away from them. :D


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

They stayed in Edoras for almost two weeks. Éomer was very busy with all the preparations for the travel, and he still had to attend to his kingly duties; with a grimace he muttered that once he'd come home from Dol Amroth, he'd no doubt be locked in his study at least until Yule. He also sent a messenger to Éowyn with a request for her to ride to Minas Tirith in two weeks time. In the letter, he said, he had been rather vague on what the matter was about because he intended to very much surprise his sister. And anyway, it was probably for the better if Lothíriel's survival was revealed not by a letter but her very presence.

Though it was nice to stay in Edoras, Lothíriel was also rather anxious to get going. The sooner they got in Dol Amroth, the sooner she would see her father and brothers, and sooner the date of the wedding could be decided. She knew it was still in future, perhaps a year or two from now, but hopefully her father would see how much she needed to move on with her life.

And, another thing was that the longer they stayed in Edoras, the harder it became to conceal the extent of their relationship. It wasn't that Rohirrim would have disapproved of it – generally they were more laid-back about things like this – especially as it was common knowledge that the King very much intended to marry the princess once her father had given his approval. But if it became widely known that they had shared a bed, it was only a matter of time when Imrahil would hear of it. And neither Lothíriel or Éomer had a wish to go down _that _road.

But all in good time, like old Bilbo had said. With bitter-sweet fondness Lothíriel thought of the Halfling, wondering how he might be faring. Probably well, as she knew all of how it was so easy to lead a calm, safe life in Rivendell.

The day before their departure Lothíriel was with Master Flód, mostly in the hopes of restoring her earlier knowledge of healing arts, when one of Éomer's men came to ask for her. With a brief little smile, the old healer urged her to go, and she followed the guard out. She was lead to the royal stables, and soon Éomer emerged, leading one of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen. The mare had a golden, well-cared coat and snowy-white mane, and her eyes were dark and lively. Even here in the land of horselords where the lowliest man owned a horse a nobleman of foreign lands might envy, the mare was an extraordinary animal.

"This is Sunrise, my dear. She's from my own herds", Éomer said and gently petted the animal's neck. "How do you like her?"

Lothíriel carefully touched the mare's soft muzzle, and it sniffed at her fingers and the palm of her hand. The hair of the horse's golden coat felt soft under her fingers as she touched her neck, and it gleamed in light; the name Sunrise was not misplaced at all.

"She's very beautiful", Lothíriel said, longing to ride the mare if only for one time. "I won't pretend I'm particularly knowledgeable when it comes to horses, but she looks like she's no ordinary horse."

"She has some _mearas _blood", Éomer affirmed, and a smile came to his face. "And the future Queen of Rohan deserves no less."

Eyes widening, Lothíriel quickly looked at him in surprise.

"You mean to give her to me?" she asked, not quite daring to believe him.

"Of course. The moment I saw her, I knew she'd be a fine one, so I've been saving her..." he said and grinned. "And I am very glad that I did – she's very you, or what do you think?"

And though it was in the front of his guards and household, Lothíriel did not care. With considerable enthusiasm, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, and she didn't even mind the wolf-whistles or the applauds they got from the stablehands. Needless to say, Éomer very much approved, and the way he beamed for the rest of the day made her heart flutter for the love she had for him.

* * *

Often when the King of Rohan would visit Gondor, the company would be large with servants, courtiers and guards. This time Éomer decided to travel lightly and with as small guard as was possible. If he would ride to Minas Tirith with a large group, it would only attract attention, and sooner or later someone would realise that the woman dressed in dark green cape with a shadowy hood that hid her face was none other than Princess Lothíriel, and word would be brought to Prince Imrahil in no time.

With a smaller company it was also possible to keep up a faster pace. As soon as they were on the road, Lothíriel was anxious to get to Dol Amroth and see her family once again. Erfréa had demanded to come along, of course.

"I am not going to just sit here when you are off to some adventure! You know, I need to keep my eye on you in case you decide you'll run off with the elves again and perhaps go hunting for dragons", she said determinedly. Lothíriel was not at all sorry to have her friend with them, and the prospect of getting to show her home city to her friend seemed more than agreeable. Erfréa's parents had not been too happy about her leaving for another long trip so soon, but apparently some kingly persuasion had taken place, and all could agree on the idea that some time in a proper court might do good to Erfréa.

"Actually, I believe one should be more worried about _you_, or rather the poor men of Dol Amroth! I'm not sure they're really prepared for your visit. You will probably leave the entire city completely dazzled", Lothíriel laughed.

"That sounds very good", Erfréa said and didn't even try to hide her smug smile. Then she narrowed her eyes and asked: "Now, how long did you say it takes to Dol Amroth?"

They made a short stop at Aldburg, to rest for the night. It was odd to visit Éomer's old home again. It had been about year and a half since Lothíriel had last been there, though it felt it had been much longer than that.

"I believe I will never forget how I came to my senses here, only to see your face over me. It was such a surreal thing, to see you there. I could not believe it was you, not at first... when I had last seen you, you were a little girl, and I did not think our paths would cross again. And yet you were there like I had dreamed, dressing my wounds and all grown up into a woman more beautiful I could ever have imagined", Éomer said when he escorted her to her room.

"And you gave me quite a fright that night, too. I thought you were dead when they brought you back", Lothíriel said and squeezed his hand.

"It takes a lot to kill me, my love", he smiled and kissed her temple.

"And I am very thankful for that", the princess answered. Suddenly, he looked oddly at her.

"You know, that night when we met again after being separated so long... I think I would have kissed you right there and then, had I been in my usual strength. Do you think you would have minded much?" he asked, brushing his fingers across her cheek. Lothíriel considered his words for a while, but she wasn't sure what was the answer.

"I don't know. Back then, I didn't even understand what I felt for you", she said at last. But then she smiled. "I'm not sure I'd have minded it, though. You have always been the one, you know. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps things would have gone different, if we had been honest from the very first moment", he continued the thought that had fallen silent on her lips.

"Only the Valar know", Lothíriel said quietly. She realized she'd rather not think of what could have been. After all, her life at the moment was just as sweet as she could ever have hoped for, maybe even more so. There was no use in asking questions of how it could have been.

Sensing the need for a change of topic, she asked: "Tell me, is Master Ferdbrego here still?"

"Oh, he is. Ever since your visit his dwelling has been the prime example of orderliness. I daresay your cleaning attack made quite an impression on him... even though he would never admit, the old fool", the king grinned.

"Perhaps I should go meet him tomorrow morning", Lothíriel joked.

"I'm not convinced he would survive another visit from you. Have pity on poor man!" Éomer laughed and gave her one last kiss before bidding her goodnight.

As they rode along the Great West Road, Lothíriel saw the newly built houses and fields. There was finally an atmosphere of peace over these lands, and the sight of the royal banner gathered crowds to catch at least a passing glimpse of the Lord of the Mark. They waved at him and shouted greetings, and Éomer lifted his hand to answer them.

In the end, the journey to Minas Tirith did not take that long, as they kept up a good riding pace, and time spent with people she loved seemed almost to fly by anyway.

During the time spent in Edoras Lothíriel had heard some very grand stories about the Battle of the Pelennor fields. Many said it had been the greatest fight of the Third Age, which was probably true if there was any truth to the stories she had heard from the survivors of that battle. Furthermore, she knew that Minas Tirith, the city Rohirrim called Mundburg, did hold memories of sorrow and grief for many of them, and there were even those who said they never wanted to see those white walls again. So she somehow expected that there would still be signs of war in the White City, that there would be some heavy atmosphere to mark the place forever. But when she laid her eyes on the city of the kings, it was not the ruin Lothíriel saw, but new life.

King Elessar had quickly started to restore his lands after the war. New farmhouses were built, the fields were tended to and the damages the city had suffered were quickly being mended. At large, the White City was full of life and buzzing like a great beehive. If there was grief here, it did not show on the surface at least.

What was most amazing was the eastern sky. During her childhood, Lothíriel had visited the capital of Gondor several times, and she remembered the dark, heavy clouds that had always covered the horizon when one gazed towards east. The shadow had loomed over those lands as long as she could remember, and its threat was the last sight she had taken with her when she had travelled for Rohan year and a half ago. But now the eastern skies were clear and for the first time in countless years Mordor was basking in sunlight. Only when Lothíriel saw this did she truly understand that the war really was over and that the constant atmosphere of fear and doubt was permanently lifted. There was no Dark Lord to threaten the free peoples of Middle-earth ever again.

This realization hit Lothíriel with a feeling that probably had been bursting on the streets of Minas Tirith when the word of Sauron's defeat had come. She could only imagine all those celebrations that had taken place here, all the renewed hope and plans for a better future. She was sorry to not to have been here then, but then again, she was now racing towards her very own happy ending, which was more than enough for her.

* * *

It was obvious, really, when one looked at Faramir and Éowyn – so obvious that she felt foolish for never thinking of it before. In fact, she felt like she was looking at kindred spirits... both having emerged from shadows and finding their place of sun with each other. And though they had only gotten married last year, Lothíriel could already see how Éowyn had changed. For one, the older woman smiled more and laughed more as well. She was free. And so was Faramir. Indeed, it couldn't have been any lesser man than him to be the one for Éowyn.

The reunion with her friend and her cousin had been a very teary and an emotional one. The two of them would not stop hugging her again and again, until finally their tears turned into laughter, and an atmosphere of love and happiness had engulfed them. Éomer would not stop grinning, and Aragorn and Arwen stood watching the scene with smiles on their faces. They had stayed up until very late, as there had been so much to talk about. Finally Erfréa had fallen asleep where she sat and they had agreed to go get some rest.

As menfolk busied themselves with their negotiations and plans, Lothíriel spent much of her time with Éowyn, Arwen and Erfréa. Catching up with Éowyn was pleasant of course, but her talks with Arwen were especially revealing. For one, Lothíriel discovered it was none other than the Queen of Gondor that had put together the pieces of puzzle that was Sídhadonnen. She spoke of the night she had spent watching Éomer, how his delirious words had made her wonder... and she also told about the Rohirric man who she had seen wearing a silver brooch made into the shape of a swan. At Arwen's description, Lothíriel was reminded of a man who had helped her; she could even remember how he had looked like. Consulting with Éomer quickly revealed that he knew of this man too; he called him Stán. In wonder and disbelief, the young king shook his head and told her of he had searched the Wold in the hopes of finding her, and how he had met Stán.

"He was trying to tell me of you – I realise that now. How frustrating! If I only had listened, I might have found you so much earlier", Éomer said and held her tight, like he were remembering the time of their separation. "Still, this Stán must be rewarded for his help."

That was something Lothíriel could agree about, for there was no telling if she'd ever have survived without the mute man's aid.

The company stayed in Minas Tirith only for couple of days while Aragorn made the final arrangements so that everything would run smoothly during his absence. The easiest way for travel was to take a ship down Anduin and then sail past Belfalas to Dol Amroth, which also guaranteed more privacy that a big caravan would have not allowed. For Éomer, it was moderately easy to depart with a comparatively small guard, but when King Elessar moved, half of Minas Tirith seemed to follow him. As the rumour that some great secret would be revealed in Dol Amroth, many of the courtiers decided to come along and bring their own cohorts of servants and guards.

When things proceeded this way, Lothíriel hoped that a letter to inform her family of her return could be sent. She did not really want to cause such commotion, and she did not feel like her survival was big enough a secret for all these people to follow them. Then again, if the things would go as she hoped, her betrothal to the King of Rohan would be announced and the alliance between two countries would thus be strengthened, and that was a celebration that would surely attract a lot of crowd anyway.

The princess was happy to finally to get to talk not only with Éowyn, but also with Faramir. It had been such a long time since she had last seen her dear cousin. He seemed older now, and she knew what he had suffered during the War of the Ring, but there was also new kind of happiness on his face; she remembered that he had often been sad in ways she had not understood before. There was no doubt where this new contentment came from. One look at Éowyn always made him smile like she was the very centre of the world.

"You know, I could not believe it when I first heard that you two had married. You seem so different", Lothíriel remarked during one of their conversations.

"Yet we are also same. We both have struggled with things more powerful than ourselves... both of us have felt caged in our own homes and felt the depths of despair. We fell in the shadow but have emerged into light anew. And Éowyn has spirit like none other. She's so different from the ladies of Gondor, and I feel she understands me better than I do. And who would not want to marry a mighty warrior princess?" Faramir said, his voice full of warmth when he spoke of his wife.

"I am happy for you, cousin. You more than deserve this", Lothíriel smiled and patted his arm. Then she grinned. "Although I am not especially pleased with you taking Éowyn away from Rohan! I had planned her to stay there with me for a long time!"

"Really, it is Éowyn herself you should blame – it was _her_ who captured _me! _Anyway, that reminds me of something... what is it exactly going on with you and our King of the Mark?" Faramir asked, which made her smile.

"Isn't it obvious? Everyone keeps telling me so, at least. He has asked for my hand in marriage and I've consented. King Elessar has also given us permission, so it's only a matter of having my father's blessing now. Éomer is... I love him very much", the princess answered, blushing lightly. Faramir lifted his brow, rather surprised.

"Fancy that", he commented. "I have to confess I would never have expected that to happen. If I and Éowyn are an unlikely pair, so are you two!"

"I do not really see it that way... I have loved him for as long as I can remember."

"But were you not betrothed to his cousin only last year? I heard of it from my father before... well. You know", Faramir wondered.

"I was, but it was not really my own choice. I know I might come across as some gold-digger who just wants to become the Queen of Rohan, but it's nothing like that. In fact, Éomer proposed to me before your father tried to make me marry Théodred. I would have been rather content as the wife of the Third Marshal", the young woman explained.

"Tried to make you? What do you mean?" Faramir inquired, and his cousin immediately regretted her choice of words. It was not decent to speak of the dead with disrespect.

"He... he threatened to banish me should I not obey", Lothíriel answered. She did not feel this was a good time to tell about the other part of late Steward's ultimatum – she did not want Faramir to think ill of his father. But if anything could be deduced of his expression, Faramir probably sensed there was more to it than just simple banishment: he knew she could be very stubborn sometimes, and a single threat of banishment would not probably be enough to force her. However, he did not pursue the matter for now.

"Well, it all makes sense now, at least. How Éomer was so grim and bitter even though the war had ended, and how he seems to be on the verge of starting to float around now. Of course we all mourned for you, but now I see why it was so hard for him", Faramir said slowly. "But you do realize that your father will not probably let the two of you marry right away? Not when you've been lost to us for so long. He will want to have you around for a while, to assure himself that you truly are alive and well. And he'd probably prefer it if you married some Gondorian lord, so that you could still live close to Dol Amroth."

"I know that and we have spoken of it with Éomer. Of course we would like to marry as soon as we can, but we are not going to pressure Father into letting us do that right away. And I'd rather like to spend some time at home... It has been so long since I have last seen Dol Amroth and my family", Lothíriel answered reassuringly.

"I am glad to see you have preserved at least some of your level-headedness. You know, I was worried you would lose it during your time with those quick-tempered horselords", Faramir smiled. The princess punched his arm, but could not help but answer his smile.

Finally, on on the third day after their arrival, the company packed themselves into the royal ship on the harbour of Harlond. The ships themselves were designed for sailing on Anduin, though they were also regularly used to travel down to Dol Amroth. There were not enough ships to carry all the people who would come along, so some had to take the land road to Dol Amroth – indeed, it looked like half of Minas Tirith was on the move.

It had been quite a while since Lothíriel's last ship voyage, so she was at first rather excited to get to sail. But when the most of her time consisted of lying low and trying not to be seen, she soon came to long for freedom, and especially for their arrival to Dol Amroth. The prospect of seeing sea made her very restless.

The sea! Just like horses and grass plains had been bred to the bloodline of the Rohirrim, sea was in the descendants of Eärendil the Mariner and the people his children had ruled (and ruled again now that King Elessar had succeeded the throne). It had been an integral part of Lothíriel's life for many long years: how many hours she had spent playing with her brothers by the seaside? How many times had she sat on the white sand, gazing out to the sea?

It was good to see Dol Amroth, though it was odd to think that – if everything went as they hoped – the next time she'd leave the city, it would be for good. Of course she could always come visit her home, but it wouldn't be the same.

Perhaps it would be good if her father would establish a betrothal time, so that she could say good bye to the city of her birth.

That night, Lothíriel had trouble sleeping. There were still nights when dark dreams would haunt her, or she would just feel too restless to settle down and rest. Late night visits of her King through her window had proven to be quite efficient in providing her with restful sleep, but on the road and in Minas Tirith there had been none of those, as sneaking about was not so easy in a crowded camp or in the Steward's quarters where they had lodged during their stay in the White City. After all, Lothíriel was supposed to lay low for now. It was not any easier in a ship, and so amorous encounters would have to wait for the time being.

But this night she had finally given up trying to fall asleep and risen up to deck to catch a bit of fresh air. It was very quiet and calm, the only sounds being the creaking of wood and the guards exchanging silent words as they made their rounds. Lothíriel found a nice spot from the rear of the ship and stopped there to just enjoy the beauty of night. There was a chill in the air, as it was only February, but the sky was very clear and moon painted all in silver.

She heard his steps then, and gently she was pulled under the warmth of his cloak. His arms wound their way around her and she relaxed against his tall, firm shape.

"Trouble sleeping, min léofe?" Éomer asked softly.

"Yes. I suppose it's because we're getting closer to the sea now. Sea, and my family", she answered and rested her hands over his.

"Mm. Have you missed the sea?" he asked.

"I have", Lothíriel admitted at length. "It's been so long since I've last seen the shores of my home... it's not going to be easy to say goodbye. Even if... or perhaps _because _of all that has happened."

She looked up at him and saw the worried look on his face. The princess asked: "What is it?"

"Is it still true, what you said on that night on the Yule before the last? That you're fine with leaving the sea behind?" he asked and she thought she could hear something like fear in his voice. "I don't want you to be unhappy, but I can understand if it's hard to leave your homeland behind. If you think you are..."

She interrupted him with a gentle kiss and when she pulled back, the look in his eyes had become calm again.

"You, my dear king, are my homeland", she told him. She thought she saw something deeply touched in his eyes at her words, but she did not have a time to check; he was pulling her close to him and that was a place she eagerly took.

"_And you're mine, Lothíriel."_

* * *

**A/N: **I really, really tried to merge this chapter with the next one but in the end the wordcount was well over 8000 and even the structure seemed to call for a split. Altogether I'm not so sure how you, my readers, feel about this slow pace. I hope it's not too tedious at least, but perhaps things will speed up a little bit in the next chapter.

Nevertheless, I hope you like this update. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Several days to their journey, a stop was made at Pelargir. Some leaks had been found in the hold and the captain wanted them checked and fixed. Aragorn had smiled apologetically to his fellow passengers when he had explained the situation.

"Royal ships haven't been in use for quite some time, I fear, so they are in less than perfect condition. This should not take too long, though. Perhaps some of you might be willing to come and take a look around in the city?" he offered.

Éomer found that idea more than agreeable, as did Faramir and Erfréa. But Lothíriel said she probably shouldn't come if she was to stay a secret, and Éowyn and Arwen decided to stay with her in the ship. Though she reassured that she didn't mind, Éomer could tell she'd have loved to come along, and so he made a mental note of bringing something for her... maybe oranges, as she had said she had missed them during her time in north.

Pelargir had been a great city once, but the raids of the corsairs and pirates had ravaged it during the long years of danger, and many of the inhabitants had fled inland for safer conditions. However, Aragorn already had his plans for restoring the harbour and strengthening its defences, and Imrahil's ships were fast at work at sea to uproot the pirates for good. So, the merchants had already started to return to Pelargir and there was a bustle on the streets. An official appearance of two kings and the Steward would have been too much of a hassle, so no bannermen were taken along, and they dressed inconspicuously to blend in. That was moderately easy in the busy streets of Pelargir, as the crowd consisted of very diverse folk. The ragged Ranger came easily enough to Aragorn, Éomer wasn't really so well-known in this part of Gondor, and Faramir's duties had usually kept him in Ithilien, so they might have been just any men as they strolled in the crowd. Éothain, Erfréa, and couple of Aragorn's guards in civilian garb were not in danger of being recognised either.

In the markets near the harbour, there were many wonders to be seen, and Éomer regretted that Lothíriel had not been able to come along. Traders were mostly men from Gondor and Southron lands and from Dale, but he could spot some dwarves too. The Rohirrim merchants were sadly missing – something Éomer made a mental note of having to fix. A bright-voiced bard, a Daleman judging by his fair looks, was singing a not too eloquent song of Battle of Five Armies, and a dark-skinned man of Harad entertained the crowd with his trained monkey. The goods varied from food to fabrics of silks and velvets, furs from the north, dwarven hand-craft, spices and exotic fruits from south, weaponry, jewellery... Erfréa found a beautiful silver clip, which Éothain eagerly bought for her (after loaning money from Éomer, of course) and Faramir bought a pair of boots from a Daleman for Éowyn.

"These are for riding. The pair she brought from Rohan are done for already, and she won't buy Gondorian ones... apparently they're all wrong. These are not so unlike her old ones, though", Faramir said, obviously very pleased with himself.

For Lothíriel, Éomer found those oranges he had been planning to buy, and a queer-looking fruit they called pineapple – Aragorn confirmed that under the hard, prickly cover there was a delicious fruit, but Éothain refused to believe it could be edible and muttered to himself that his king was being somehow tricked by these merchants. They stopped by a bookseller's stand too, and he was happy to find a book of stories from the North for his beloved.

Altogether their outing was very nice, but soon Aragorn suggested they turned back in case the ship was already fit for sailing again, and so the company started back to the docks.

They were halfway there when Éomer's attention was suddenly sparked by a familiar face in the crowd. At first he did not make the connection, for the man had grown a beard, and the bandage covered the top right part of his face... but it was him, here of all places when he should have been waiting for justice in the dungeons of Dol Amroth.

The King of Rohan was a large man, tall and robust after years of battles and carrying a heavy armour from day to day. So his opponents often took him for a slow fighter, and were surprised when his attack came fast and precise. And now his hatred for the villain and his rage for what this man had done gave him wings; in half a heartbeat, he had leapt towards his target, and then he swung his arm. His heart filled with grim satisfaction at the sound and feel of a nose breaking under his strike, and Captain Aradhain was sent flying backwards – he even made an impressive somersault as a gasp of shock and surprise rose in the crowd.

"My lord!" Éothain called as he came running, practically throwing people at sides as he made his way through the crowd. No doubt he thought the young king had suddenly lost his mind and just randomly attacked a by-stander, but as Aradhain dazedly climbed on his feet, Éothain's face turned dark and determined; the King had told his captain of what this man had done. He glanced at Éomer, "Sword, my lord?"

"If you'd be so kind", growled the Lord of the Mark, and his captain offered the hilt of his own sword to him – a deed of such symbolic value that none other than a man or woman or Rohan would have understood it. The feel of unfamiliar sword was strange but also pleasing as he thought of how Aradhain would try to escape and he'd be left with no choice but to drive the blade into the damned man's guts...

"You!" he snarled at Aradhain who was stumbling to get back to his feet, "I've come to get my dues!"

Evidently the look of murderous intent was on his face, for the villain's eyes widened and he stumbled back dazedly. Blood was trickling down his face from his broken nose, but the Lord of the Mark very much had the purpose of leaving the man with much more than just mutilated face. The captain produced a sword of his own then, and there was a clash of steel as the first stroke of swords fell.

Locking the blades, Éomer growled at the man: "Surrender, and your life may yet be spared!"

However, his words made Aradhain scowl.

"As if I'd give up my life to the hands of a brute like you!" he grunted back.

"Says the man who stalks the innocent who trust you with their life!" Éomer hissed, and it made his blood boil when he remembered how Lothíriel had cried on that night back in Meduseld, and how scared she must have been when this monster assaulted her... how the damned villain's actions had lead into her losing a year of her life.

"Innocent! Not quite so, _King, _for you saw to that!" captain spat back at him; with a growl, Éomer drove his knee to his opponent's stomach and Aradhain fell back, desperately gasping for air.

But the man was cunning and evidently very fond of his life, and as he were down, he grasped a handful of sand and cast it at the young king's face... and the moment it took for Éomer to shelter his eyes was what he needed to get up on his feet and make for escape.

Éomer had been the King less than a year and he was the first one to admit that he was not yet quite used to thinking like one. Especially in moments that required quick reactions, he fell back to his old instinct of a Marshal and a warrior. And warriors and even Marshals were replaceable. They could afford doing things like what he did then. _King _would not have raced after Aradhain, but a warrior would have. Even more, a man who loved his woman would have seen that her attacker would pay for his deeds.

So he sprung after Aradhain, sword in hand and his hatred fuelling his chase. Though he spurted fast in his anger, the damned captain had his drive to fly too: men like him did not survive undiscovered because they thought lowly of their own lives. He ran like the deer that knew its life depended solely on speed, leading Éomer into darker side alleys where fewer people were to be seen. What passer-bys the King came across quickly leapt away from his path, and doubtlessly the bared sword in his hand gave them even more motivation to do so.

Further into the city he ran, and the buildings he passed became more and more deteriorated. Aradhain was picking up advance, until finally he turned right to another alley... and when Éomer got there, he couldn't see the man anymore. Cursing to himself, he realised he'd never find the villain in this maze of a city, and so he slowed down. His damned temper! If he only had stayed calm at the sight of that man... he could have sneaked up on the captain and captured him before Aradhain would have even realised what was happening. But then, Éomer knew himself well enough to understand he'd not be able to face that man and not feel the flames of anger – not when he remembered what pain he had brought on Lothíriel. The echoes of her anguished cries still tore at the King's heart.

The best way about it was to go back and alarm the guards. As much as he'd have loved to chase the rat from its hiding place, he would have to leave that task for the men who actually knew this city. But which way was back? He had run after Aradhain aimlessly, not really paying any attention where they were going. The kind way of saying it would have been that it'd take a while to find his way back. And the more truthful version was that he was helplessly lost.

Sighing to himself, he decided to at least get back the way he had come, and turned to return... but there on his way stood two men. He did not know them but the look of a villain was essentially the same no matter where you went. And as a warrior, Éomer could easily read the threat in their body language and see the way they looked at him with a calculating look on their faces, probably evaluating if he was worth the risk. All of them were rather young men – younger than him even. That meant they would be bold and strong and were less likely to be cautious. However, he doubted any of them had the warrior's training or battle experience such as his.

Knowing the danger such as this rarely came alone, he threw a look over his shoulder and counted three more men behind himself. _Typical. Of course this would happen when I'm not riding or wearing my armour. _It was not even a boast on his part, but Éomer knew that if he had been armed with a spear along with the sword and riding a horse, he'd have trampled these men to ground. They did say he and Firefoot were something like a force of nature together, but Éomer had never made a comment on _that._ Well, perhaps he should consider this evening the odds; men such as these usually ran as soon as they realised their opponent could and would bite back.

So he held on to Éothain's sword tighter, moving to stand so that his sides were to his opponents. That way, he could observe them from the corners of his eyes, and no one would be able to sneak up on his back.

"I suggest you gentlemen let me pass", he said in calm tones as he relaxed his posture to give an impression of serenity and confidence.

"Oh, we'll let you pass", said a man slightly taller and bigger than the others, and Éomer thought he was probably the leader of this little gang, "once you've given us that nice steel and whatever you have in your pockets."

"I assure you, there's only one thing I can give you, and that is death", said the King, preparing himself for battle. "I'm out for blood and yours will do as well..."

"Blood, you say? I fear it's your blood that will soon cover this alley!" said another man, and his friends sniggered.

_Well. _Reasoning would not work with these men, and he'd be damned if he surrendered Éothain's sword. In trusting his king with his blade, the captain had trusted him with much more than just a weapon you could replace.

"Oi! You lads! You better get going before this turns ugly!" came a shout then, and Éomer had never been happier to hear the voice of his second in command. Towards the end of the alley where he had first came from stood Éothain, armed with nothing but rocks in his hands. But the King knew how precise and deadly his captain's aim was, and in Éothain's large hands, rocks became weapons just as a sword did.

"Éothain! Where were you loitering?" Éomer asked in Rohirric, which made his captain snort.

"Chasing after you, my king, but sadly my legs aren't quite as long as yours. Can you be five minutes without getting yourself in trouble? A lot of people are going to be very angry with me if you get yourself killed!" Éothain shot back and glared at the robbers. "What is it going to be, lads? Your brains on the pavement or we part in peace?"

"You talk really bold for a man who's armed only with rocks!" called one man – he looked younger than the others.

"Watch it, boy. I'd hate to make an example of you", Éothain threatened. The men exchanged glances, but it didn't really seem like they were going to give up this one.

"You can handle yourself?" Éomer asked his friend, sensing the battle was about to break any moment now.

"Of course, you oaf. What do you take me for, a kitchen maid of Meduseld? You take those three, and I will entertain these two fellows. Just try and stay alive, will you?" said his captain, a look of intense focus on his face. If they got out of this unscathed, Éomer thought he'd have to think about gifting his captain with a horse of _mearas _blood.

It was the youngest of the bunch that first lost his nerve, like inexperienced ones usually did. He charged – quite foolishly, that was – towards the King of Rohan. But Éomer was waiting and the robber's blade came in contact with Éothain's well-cared, gleaming steel. Together the two Rohirs bellowed, like so many times before: "_Eorlingas!" _

Éothain's aim did not fail them this time either. The rock flew from his hand deadly and precise, and it was only couple of heartbeats later that he armed himself with a rusty sword from the man who now lay dead. Dodging the strike from the second man, Éothain joined by his king's side, loyal and trustworthy as he had always been.

The robbers weren't much of swordmen but rather relied on the strength of group. However, none of them were battle-hardened warriors who had grown up with a sword in hand. Éomer slew one man and was just about to finish another when a squadron of guards, Aragorn and Faramir leading them, charged the alley with a cry, and the remaining robbers ran.

After that, much of what happened was more or less chaos. Erfréa appeared just at the heels of the guards and she gave both Rohirs hugs that oddly reminded Éomer of her father (he also noted she hugged Éothain very long), and then Aragorn and Faramir wanted to know what exactly had happened and who had been the man Éomer had so attacked. The King of Gondor had quickly made himself known when Éomer had dashed away with Éothain on his heels, but the quick aid had come only because once she had been able to make her way through the crowd, Erfréa had ran after them and thus she had been able to lead the guards to right direction.

Guards were sent to look for Aradhain, but whether the man would be found was another thing entirely. It still remained to be found why Imrahil had not arrested the captain like Éomer had asked in the message he had sent before they had departed from Edoras, but as anxious as that made the young king, Aragorn assured him that the Prince would doubtlessly explain everything.

Clearing out everything took some time and it was already evening Aragorn decided they should return to the ship, where they doubtlessly were already anxiously awaited. When they made their way back towards the docks, the King of Gondor turned to look at his friend.

"Why did you do it, my friend? Why did you attack him like that?" he asked quietly, so that no one else could hear.

Éomer looked at the older man, long and serious.

"I know I reacted unthinkingly", he said quietly. "And I know it could have cost me my life. But I am not sorry for what I did. The only thing I regret is that I didn't catch him."

He sighed and looked away for a moment, but then turned again towards Aragorn.

"If it was your Arwen that Aradhain had assaulted... if she disappeared and you'd believe her dead for almost a year and you'd come to know it was because of _him... _and if you heard how she cries and screams at night when the memories of what he did haunt her... what would you have done at the sight of him?" he asked his friend.

There was a look of understanding in Aragorn's eyes then. He said no word but his gaze spoke in volumes. Silently, he lay a hand on his friend's shoulder, and they talked no more.

* * *

When Éomer returned from the unexpectedly long trip to the city, he immediately strode to Lothíriel and pulled her into his embrace. She did not know what it was about but she could see the look on his face when he approached, and there was something tormented in his eyes that made her open her arms for him.

"I love you. I love you", he wouldn't stop mumbling in quiet Rohirric. Though she wondered what it was about, she did not ask. Instead, she held him tight and tiptoed to kiss him when he pulled back. The troubled look on his face was already dissolving, as if all it took to chase the demons away was for her to touch him.

It probably was true. Like she was strong with him, so was he strong with _her. _

"I love you too, my dear", she told him softly, and that finally brought a smile to his face.

* * *

The pearly white towers of Dol Amroth rose from the Bay of Belfalas like some city of dream – well, at least until you smelled the fish. Smells aside, it was a glorious sight especially on the morrow, but never had the city of her birth looked more beautiful than it did today. Now the emotion held her even stronger than usual, for she was coming home after a time that felt like thousand years. Up above the tower of the palace, the blue and silver pennants fluttered in the gentle sea breeze, announcing that the Prince of Dol Amroth was in residence. Messengers had been sent beforehand as to give Imrahil time to prepare his household for a large entourage of visitors. Now the royal ship, carrying both kings of Gondor and Rohan, was nearing the harbour: the banners of two countries were held up high, the White Horse beside the White Tree, so everyone knew that the two kings were approaching. The princess attempted to distract herself by thinking of how confused her family must be at the moment. However, thoughts of them only succeeded to fuel her anxiety.

Finally the royal ship glided into the haven and the shouts of the crew filled the air as they prepared to anchor the ship. Had the decision been up to the princess, she would have jumped right off from the boat and possibly ran up to the palace as fast as she could, but apparently the situation called for dignified ceremonial behaviour. Even when the ship was securely anchored she had to wait, for the horses needed to be taken out from under the deck and made ready for the company.

"Calm down, my love. You will see them very soon", Éomer tried, even though he fully understood what she must be feeling; after his own mad race to Rivendell he could very well comprehend her need to see her family.

"I cannot! I simply cannot calm down now! I am going to see my father and brothers and Aredhel! And little Alphros! Sweet Elbereth, the boy must be so big already! And they're never going to forgive me for all the pain I've caused them!" Lothíriel exclaimed and sounded almost hysterical, and apparently it was completely impossible for her to stop and catch her breath in between the words. Finally the young king decided it was of no use to try and calm her down – she would not be at peace until she was with her father and brothers.

Finally one of the servants came to announce that the horses were ready, and the party departed outside. Aragorn and Arwen went first – this was their kingdom, after all – and the people who had gathered to harbour gave a great shout at the sight of the royal couple. Éomer went next, escorting the hooded Lothíriel whose heart was about to burst, and finally Faramir and Éowyn followed. Erfréa would come after them with high courtiers from Aragorn's entourage.

Firefoot was tossing his head rather restlessly, but a firm word from Éomer made the stallion calm down. He helped Lothíriel to mount Sunrise at first and then flung himself to his own horse's back. Today he was not wearing his armour, but the ceremonial green and gold.

Then the company began to ride towards the palace, passing by countless of shouting inhabitants of the city who had come to see the two kings. Lothíriel wondered if she was very obvious in her so called disguise and she hoped that the secret would remain a little while longer; she very much wanted to be the one to make the truth known. Then again, even if her family did receive the news now, they would still not believe it until they beheld her with their own eyes.

All the way to the palace, she wanted to urge her mare into a mad gallop and race to her family as fast as she could, and she needed all of her self-control not to do so. She envied Aragorn and Arwen's serene dignity that seemed to be completely untroubled.

And then, finally after a time that felt like thousands of years, they rode to the courtyard of the palace of Dol Amroth, and her family was there: her father, with more white in his hair than Lothíriel remembered and new lines of worry about his face, her brothers with serious countenances (especially Amrothos looked smothered without his usual cheerful smile), Aredhel holding a small dark-haired boy and obviously pregnant again... The young princess' heart began to sing at the sight of them and she was fairly certain she'd burst into tears of relief and happiness any moment now.

They dismounted and approached the royal family of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel by Éomer's side and shivering with anticipation.

"Welcome to Dol Amroth, my friends. It is a great honour to me to have such grand company under my roof..."Father began, but at the sound of his voice – _her Father's voice! _– it became impossible for her to extend this torture any longer, and with swift motion she pushed the hood away from her face. As she ran towards him, her clear voice rang: "Father!"

Lothíriel could never really describe what she felt when her father grabbed her in his arms, crying and mumbling nonsensically, Aredhel clinging on them both, Elphir and Erchirion making some kind of victorious dance around them, and poor Amrothos clutching and waving King Elessar's arm while in the middle of a such hysterical fit of laughter that one could have assumed him to be mad. And then even Aunt Ivriniel was there and she was crying too and looking like she would collapse any moment. Éomer was smiling to her with a huge grin on his face, and Éowyn and Faramir were beaming, and Erfréa's hair shone like gold in the air as she wouldn't stop hugging the dazed-looking Éothain. In that moment, as she covered her dear father's face in kisses, Lothíriel decided that whatever misery she had or would suffer, this moment when she was surrounded by the people she loved was all the compensation she could ever wish for.

**_End of Part 3_**

* * *

**A/N:** And so Lothíriel is reunited with her family! I'm not sure whether I like this chapter or not - there are some things that bother me but others that I am happy about. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Aradhain remains an unsettled matter, but I promise there will be more to why he has not been arrested. I must confess I very much enjoy the idea of him receiving some well-deserved blows from our King of Rohan, but it also seems his storyline is going to places very unexpected... but let's not get ahead of ourselves!

As usual, thanks for the comments!


	28. Chapter 27

**Part 4**

_Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction. _

_- Antoine de Saint-Exupery_

* * *

**Chapter 27**

_April 3020, Dol Amroth_

Quite understandably the Prince's family retreated into their own peace as soon as their emotional outburst had somewhat calmed down. Imrahil apologised for being such a poor host, but Aragorn waved the matter away with a gentle smile.

"We understand perfectly, Imrahil. Go and be with your family. We will meet at the supper", he prompted. Imrahil did not need more encouraging: he merely flashed a blissful smile at his King and went off to his children who still were practically clinging on each other. Faramir, Éowyn and Erfréa decided to go and explore the city while Éomer, Aragorn and Arwen were left alone in a beautiful, sunny sitting room. Not that they minded being left to their own devices – all three of them enjoyed quiet and calm.

"So is Lothíriel returned to her family. I can think of only one other reunion that has ever made me as happy", Aragorn commented and gazed at his wife, who smiled quietly back at him.

"I love to see her so happy. Her family, too. They were the ones who have suffered the most of all. Even though this probably means our marriage will have to wait for a while yet", Éomer said, leaning back in his chair.

"Patience, my friend. The day will come when you are together, and from experience I can say it is worth waiting for all the lifetimes of Men", Aragorn smiled.

"I know. If there ever was for me a woman worth waiting for, worth dying for, it is her", Éomer said softly.

"Where will you marry when the day comes?" Arwen inquired, her musical voice ringing with bell-like clarity.

"We wish to be wedded in Edoras. Lothíriel says she would not want it to happen anywhere else, and I could not agree more with her", Éomer answered. "But that is enough of us. What of you two, my friends? How long do you intend to stay here in Dol Amroth?"

The three of them spent a pleasant afternoon in their talks: it was nice to be able to converse like this without any sense of hurry or anxiety. Really, it seemed there hadn't been any time for proper talks with Aragorn anyway, especially with Éomer's antisocial tendencies of late. But his friend was an understanding man, and though their alliance was only at its beginning, both of them could tell it would be a friendship that would flourish and make them both stronger as they were.

The atmosphere that night at the supper was truly festive. Éomer suspected that Imrahil's family would have rather had a quiet meal together (or not so quiet, as it appeared that Amrothos still suffered from sudden bouts of uncontrolled laughter), but the prince had in his own eyes already pushed the lines of propriety enough: he had always been very much a hospitable host and insisted on taking good care of his guests. For that Dol Amroth was one of the most welcoming courts Éomer had ever visited. The banquet lasted well into night and afterwards, the young king had a vague memory of stumbling about with Éothain and Amrothos, while the latter sang a song he hoped no lady would ever hear. The next morning there were highly unappreciative talks about some mysterious villain throwing up in the royal flowerbeds, but the culprit was never found, much to the displeasure of Lady Ivriniel.

The palace was truly beautiful. With its build of light stone, big windows and airy rooms and corridors, it reminded him of Minas Tirith. It was very different to Edoras, of course. From his visit here so long ago, Éomer remembered some of the castle but found exploring it and the city entertaining enough. He would have preferred to make his walks in Dol Amroth with Lothíriel, listening her tell about her home city to him, but during the days she was very much preoccupied with her family, and Éomer did not want to intrude.

Indeed, it was not during daylight that he could be with his princess. By daytime, she always was in the presence of at least one of her brothers or her sister-in-law. Despite his small and petty pangs of jealousy Éomer tried not to bother her much: once they were married, he would have all the time he could hope for with her. This time belonged to her family and they all had more than earned it. It was very encouraging to see Imrahil's spirits returned – it was as if ten years had fallen away from his shoulders. Especially young Amrothos, who had been utterly devastated by his sister's disappearance, seemed to be about to bounce off the walls.

So, what time they had together was usually by nights. On the second day after their arrival, she slipped a note in his hand and asked him to see her that night at the beach. He eagerly complied, and so every night after, they'd walk the beach for a while and share the closeness they could not show by daytime.

The only interruption to this peaceful reverie was when finally came the time to handle the matter of Captain Aradhain. Though it felt somehow wrong to bring up a matter so appalling on a time like this, the kings of Rohan and Gondor both agreed it should be settled as soon as possible. And so they gathered in Imrahil's study, and from the perplexed faces of the Prince and his sons, Éomer could tell they were all more than just a little confused about the whole thing.

He had worried if it would do Lothíriel good to reminisce again on those dark memories, but as she began to tell her story and explained how she had been haunted ever since she had ridden to Aldburg, her face remained calm. As for her brothers and her father, their expressions became increasingly dark and angry as her story progressed. By the end of it, all four men looked like they'd have ripped the man in pieces with their bare hands had he been here now – a notion Éomer himself could very well empathise with. When Lothíriel finished, Amrothos jumped up and Erchirion and Elphir immediately followed after. Standing tall side by side, and with righteous fury blazing in their eyes, the three princes made quite a gathering.

"Father, I'd like to go and hunt down this filth of a man!" Amrothos announced, his hands in fists so tight that his knuckles had turned white.

"And I'd like to go along!" Erchirion growled, and the three brothers shared a glance of grim understanding.

It would have been a lie to say that Imrahil himself looked peaceful. As a matter of fact, his strong features were twisted into a face of such intense fury that Éomer had never quite seen anything like it. Nor had he thought he'd see something like that on the Prince's face of all people.

But then he looked at his daughter again, and his expression softened. Quickly, he crossed the space between them and embraced her; when he pulled her close, a look of pain, the kind that only a parent could feel, appeared on his face. The father and the daughter exchanged some silent words that Éomer could not hear, and then Imrahil turned to look at his sons.

"I know you'd love nothing better than being able to hunt down this traitor and make him pay", he said at length, fighting to sound calm. "And to be honest, that is something I'd love to do as well. But that road is folly, for this man is no longer in our reach, and hunting him would be the same as hunting a ghost."

"What do you mean, Imrahil?" Aragorn asked and his face turned into a frown. Éomer was frowning as well, and he looked from his fellow king to the prince in frustration.

The Prince sighed and returned to his desk, from where he picked up a note, offering it to his king.

"I received this only this morning. I had some men of my own looking for the captain for the reasons I will explain shortly, but what is important is that according to them, Aradhain is not to be found in Gondor any longer. My men spoke with a certain man from Harad – he has provided us with information before and has his ways of knowing things – and he says that Aradhain was seen on his way to south", Imrahil said heavily and there was a look of regret on his face.

"If he is travelling to Harad, then there's no hope of us catching him. Even with the war ended, the Haradrim have little love for the Men of the West. They won't look for some criminal of ours, even if a word was sent for the tribes", Aragorn said.

And frustrating as it was, he was right. It was like Imrahil said: at this point, hunting for Aradhain would have been the same as hunting for phantoms.

"But Father! We can't just let him go unpunished! Think of what he tried to do!" Amrothos argued furiously. Erchirion was nodding emphatically, and even Éomer felt that the prince had a point.

"I know, I know. It frustrates me as well that he has escaped. But it is a folly to go after him now. This villain has passed from our grasp... but if he ever decides to come back, we will be waiting", said the Prince patiently, looking like regret was starting to take the place of his anger. He looked at his daughter again, and she stood quiet and very pale. Forcing his own hatred beside, Éomer lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. They did not exchange words but she seemed to recognise the promise in his eyes, and a small smile appeared on her face. He could feel her form relaxing and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. _I will keep you safe. _

When Éomer lifted his eyes, he saw Imrahil looking at them, but he couldn't read the expression on the Prince's face. And then Aragorn spoke and the moment was gone.

"Imrahil, I understand Éomer sent you a word and asked you to arrest Aradhain. May I ask, why wasn't he taken in custody?" asked the King of Gondor. The Prince sighed again.

"Oh, I'd have arrested him of course, had there been a chance", he said and shook his head wearily. "However, after he returned unexpectedly from Rohan without even attending to things I had tasked him with, he disappeared. One day, he was gone from the barracks as were his things. No one saw him leave, though the men he had ridden with told me that he had acted very strange during their way back."

"He must have heard of your quest to find our sister, Éomer", Elphir said, wearing a similar frown as his brothers. "He was off very well here in Dol Amroth, after all. He wouldn't leave, unless he knew that Lothíriel might be alive and that her return would likely mean that his crimes would come to light."

"What craven! What I would give just for once chance to throttle him!" Erchirion muttered darkly to himself.

"I had men looking for him, of course", Imrahil continued, "as deserting is not taken lightly here in Dol Amroth, even with the war ended. I doubled the amount of men looking for him when Éomer sent his message, but the captain appears to be a slippery one."

Amrothos grimaced.

"You should have sent us, Father. I'm sure we'd have found him sooner or later", he said.

"I'm not sure you would have. He was able to remain unknown all these years, and I don't think that is something you can do if you're not extremely careful. He wouldn't let anyone catch himself", Lothíriel argued.

"The Princess is probably right", Éomer agreed. He looked at Aragorn, "I trust your guards in the cities of Gondor will keep their eyes open, though? In case he tries to return?"

"To be honest, I do not think we'll be seeing him again. But I will send a word to my lords to keep an eye open for him", answered the older king. As frustrating hat was, it was likely that he had the right of it.

Nevertheless, if Aradhain ever showed up in the kingdoms of West again, Éomer would be waiting. And so would be his sword Gúthwinë.

* * *

The young king had very much gotten used to always having something to do, so the time of leisure he now had felt rather strange. He did try to attend to his kingly duties, however; he had endless conversations with Aragorn, planning out the ways they could bring their kingdoms and peoples closer, and what would have to be done to secure the borders of their kingdoms. He also met with city's merchants to map out possible business here, and it was turning out that at least the fine Rohirric wool and animal skins and furs would find very appreciative markets. Also, he tried to spend as much time with Éowyn as he could. Who knew when they would meet again?

Erfréa was especially delighted with Dol Amroth, which probably was in no small part because of the admirers she had gotten. With her fair hair and Northern beauty, she was as much a hit in the city as Lothíriel had been with her dark looks, though it must be noted that the local ladies were not so impressed. Éomer thought he should maybe keep an eye on the girl and make sure she didn't get to any trouble. And that was not only because the girl's parents would kill him should anything happen to the young woman. But it appeared that Éothain already had Erfréa's back and the young king knew she'd need no other guardian.

Some days, Éomer would persuade some of his friends to go out for a ride, to see the lands around Dol Amroth. Éowyn and Faramir were both invariably happy to join him, as was Aragorn. It was rather precious to watch Éowyn teach Faramir riding tricks that Rohirric riders took much pride in, and just to entertain her, the poor Steward always complied.

It was almost impossible for the Lord of the Mark to pass through the city without being noticed. Éothain would usually accompany his lord on the young king's strolls in the city. People would stop to gaze the two pass on the streets, talking in Rohirric about this or that matter. It was the fair hair, Éomer mused, and his height did not really help him blend in either. He tried to persuade Éothain at least leave his armour as Dol Amroth was quite a safe city, but the captain would only hold his spear tighter and demand to know how he should defend Éomer from sword attack if he was not armed and wearing his chain-mail. It was obvious he was remembering the incident in Pelargir and the King knew there was no power on Middle-earth that could have convinced Éothain to change his mind about this. So he gave up and let his captain have his way. He could only wonder how it would be when Lothíriel returned to Edoras – Éothain would probably be all over the poor girl.

Some walks Éomer preferred taking alone – especially when he would go see the sea and wander on the shore of white sand. It was not that he did not enjoy the company of his friends or his men, but the months without Lothíriel had also taught him of silence and solitude. It had been bitter once, but now there was also pleasing calm to it. It gave him time to think of his country and his plans for the Mark. He had never particularly wanted to become a king, even though the possibility had always been there, but now that he was stuck with the crown Éomer wanted to be a good ruler.

The white shores of Dol Amroth brought back fond memories from a time long gone, when a small girl had been playing here and building sand castles, naming them all Meduseld... He had been watching her with a rare smile. He could even find the place by a large rock where he had stood on that day so long ago and spotted a small girl sinking under the waves... when he gazed out to the sea, he could remember running into the water and swimming towards her with speed and strength he had not felt many times since. He remembered how it had felt when his hand had come in contact with hers under the water, so small and fragile in his grip... he had grasped her, and one was not wrong to say that he had never let go since then.

The King's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when laughter of young court ladies approached him. Pretty young girls, not much younger than Lothíriel was, with faces fresh and youthful. Some of them seemed familiar, which was probably because he had met some of them in Minas Tirith after the war had ended. He supposed they were pretty, but of course none were like his princess: none had that certain way of looking at him, or that special smile that always made his heart so light...

The girls giggled at the sight of him, which made him feel a bit awkward, but he bowed his head politely at their direction. He had never been particularly good with young girls, except perhaps for Éowyn and even with her he could have done a lot better. As for Lothíriel, she was another thing entirely.

"King Éomer! How delightful!" the tallest of girls called. She seemed to be a bit older than others, with beautiful chestnut hair and pale green eyes. She had lovely heart-shaped face and her flirtatious smile revealed she was very much aware of her own charm. Éomer tried to recall the girl's name – it was Lady Clauriel, he remembered finally – and wondered warily what kind of excuse would confuse her long enough so that he could make his escape.

"Good day, Lady Clauriel", he answered and tried to look like he was off to somewhere important, which was not so easy on a quiet beach.

"Might you accompany us for a moment, Sire?" young woman asked sweetly. Éomer suppressed a sigh and nodded. Éowyn would have said he should be polite and try to act pleasant instead of giving out those brooding looks he according to his sister was so good at. Where was Éothain when he truly needed protection?

"That is so exciting!" Clauriel exclaimed and came to capture his arm in a way that very clearly showed a claim of ownership. "Now, I have been long wanting to ask of your country! Tell me all about it!"

Tell _all _about Rohan? He thought of pointing out what an absurd idea that was, but kept the thought to himself. He really wasn't so good at this idle talk thing.

"It is a beautiful land, with mountains and vast grass plains that extend to the horizon. The earth is fertile and prosperous, and all of the Mark turns green in spring and golden in autumn. The skies there are clear and wide, and when the sun sets, heavens seem to burn in all the shades of red and gold. The people are proud and stubborn, but honest and true. They are brave and strong, and if you ever befriend a man or woman of Rohan, you have a loyal friend in him or her. And the horses... there are not better horses found in the any of the kingdoms of Men", Éomer answered softly, fondness taking over his voice as he spoke of the land of his forefathers.

"How lovely", Clauriel answered, although her voice did not seem to reflect any particular interest for his home. "Is it really true that you led your men into the Battle of Pelennor Fields singing? You must be such a brave warrior!"

"I only did what I needed to do. And yes – it is a Rohirric custom for the men to ride into battle singing the songs of our fathers", Éomer answered, trying to be patient. He truly did not wish to remember that particular battle, or the darkness that had lead him into mad shows of courage (or perhaps they had been shows of insanity – he did not really want to know). He tried to think of some way to excuse himself swiftly, but could not come up with any good plan; why was it that in the midst of a battle he could make all kinds of fast decisions, but he could not dodge a single young woman? Suddenly he felt like an idiot. Fortunately, Erfréa and Éowyn happened to arrive then, and apparently his distress was evident on his face as Erfréa came to his aid.

"Éomer King! What a beautiful morning it is!" she exclaimed and then brought a hand on her face. "But alas! I am feeling unwell. I feel quite faint – I do not know whether I will make it to the palace on my own. Will the Mark extend a strong arm to aid this poor maiden?"

"I live to serve my people", Éomer answered, trying to keep his voice serious. "Ladies, if you will excuse me? I need to see to Lady Erfréa."

Clauriel seemed sour because of this development, but let go of his arm. He strode quickly to Erfréa, who was pretending faintness very impressively. Éowyn's face was twitching with barely suppressed laughter.

"It is this salty air! It is so sour and bitter and cold!" Erfréa wailed as she leaned heavily on the young king's arm. "At least in home the wind smells like blossoms and garlands!"

Her implications were not lost to Éomer who knew enough of Sindarin to make the connection. He had to bite his lip forcefully so that he would not start laughing – nor did he make any comments of how the air would smell of horse manure if the wind blew from the wrong direction.

"There, there, Lady Erfréa. Do not overexert yourself", he said, unable to hide the amusement from his voice now. He and his sister were still shaking with silent laughter as they started towards the city. "I am grateful for your swift aid, but you could have been more subtle about it. I fear you have made an enemy of poor Lady Clauriel."

"Frankly, my king, I do not care. I don't like her anyway", Erfréa answered. She was still leaning on Éomer's arm but her voice was light and cheerful.

"She is just trying to find an advantageous husband and bring honour to her family. That is not exactly an evil thing to do", Éowyn dryly commented.

"Now you are just ruining my fun! And here I was thinking you must enjoy my little act", Erfréa answered with mock offence.

"Oh, believe me, it was rather enjoyable, if cruel", Éowyn snorted.

"King Éomer does not seem to mind!" the younger woman said smugly. "You would be just as grateful for my aid if Lady Clauriel had pursued _you!_"

"Fortunately I am very happily married and not likely to receive her attentions", Lady of Ithilien hemmed.

With a slight smile on his face, Éomer listened to the easy banter of two women as they walked back to the palace. It was good to hear Éowyn chat in such relaxed manner, finally free from her concerns and the despair that had almost engulfed her. Still sometimes it did make him feel guilty, for not being there for her when she had needed support.

The King of Rohan was by no means a coward, but he was not very willing to come across Lady Clauriel unguarded again. As much as he had liked the quiet strolls on the beach, he began to persuade someone to accompany him on his walks. Often it would be Éowyn or Aragorn, and both their presences were enough to discourage any flirtatious attempts from Lady Clauriel (who appeared to be constantly positioned on the shore just in case he happened to walk there alone). Éowyn had long ago learned the art of intimidating those around her, and her deeds in the War of the Ring had turned her into a living legend. The slayer of the Lord of Nazgûl only needed to cast one cool look to drive away people she did not wish to deal with. As for Aragorn, he was still somewhat a novelty to the Gondorian people and for some reason the ladies were not very keen on flirting in his presence – it made the King of Gondor laugh when Éomer commented it must be because he was old enough to be a grandfather to any of these girls. Then Aragorn had lifted his eyebrows and said: "I'm old enough to be your grandfather too, my friend."

That was such an absurd thing to realise that both of them laughed long and heartily. All the same, when the two kings wandered on the beach deeply engaged in a conversation, not even Lady Clauriel dared to come to disturb them. Obviously the two monarchs were talking of some great deed to be done, like conquering the southern lands beyond Harad (when they actually were leisurely arguing about pipeweed).

One such day, as the two men were walking across the beach, they came across the small group of noble ladies. Whispering and giggling, they curtsied to the two kings and then fluttered away like a flock of exotic, colourful birds.

"You would do very well to ask Imrahil for his daughter's hand soon, brother. Those girls have set their eyes on you and I have a feeling they will not give up until you are safely engaged. And maybe not even then", Aragorn commented with dry humour.

"I know. I have just been waiting for the right moment, for I do not wish to bother Imrahil while he is still in the middle of reverie. I do not think it would be proper to ask Lothíriel's hand in marriage so soon after she has been returned to her family", Éomer answered.

"Imrahil likes you, Éomer. I believe he would be delighted to have Lothíriel marry you. I know he does not think of it now, but Lothíriel's life needs to continue... I fear for what may happen should she not be able to move on", the older man said gravely.

"What do you suggest would happen?" asked the Lord of the Mark, and as it was Aragorn he was speaking with, he did not try to hide the fear in his voice.

"The ailings of the mind are not something I know well, but I wonder how well she has recovered. She seems happy now, yes, but perhaps the time she was lost left scars that have yet to show themselves", Elessar said carefully. "And perhaps they never will, if our princess is allowed to move on and _live."_

Heeding his friend's words of advice, next morning Éomer did go to meet Imrahil. He had been trying to come up with a proper speech for a while now, but he was still feeling a little uncertain of what would be the best way to proceed. After all, it _was _one of the most important things he'd ever ask.

"Éomer! What a delightful surprise. What can I do for you?" asked the Prince when he opened the door for the younger man that morning, already dressed and ready for the day.

"There is something I need to discuss with you, Imrahil. May I come in?" Éomer inquired.

"Of course! Come in, come in. I apologize for being such a poor host – I have barely spoken with you ever since you came here", Imrahil said and ushered the king to sit down.

"It is no matter. You have every reason to concentrate on your family", he waved the matter away.

"So, what did you want to speak of?" the prince asked once they were comfortably seated.

"I do not know how much Lothíriel has talked of our relationship. I am rather surprised that no word of it has come here in Dol Amroth, as in the midst of war we were not very subtle about it. Imrahil, I love your daughter very much. In fact, I have loved her for a long time now. And the miraculous thing is that she feels the same about me. A year ago on the Yule night, I asked if she'd one day want to marry me, and she said yes. Now I have come to ask your approval for our union", Éomer explained, trying to keep his voice even. Imrahil's brows shot up to his hairline.

"Well, I suppose I should not be very surprised – I should have known there was more to the way she always talked of you and waited for your letters. In all honesty, I know you are a good man and will likely make a fine husband, but I confess I am not sure if marriage is the best thing for her right now. Not to mention how I simply cannot bear to part with her again so soon", Imrahil answered slowly.

"I understand that, Imrahil, and I do not mean to snatch her away when the first opportunity comes. I do understand that you wish for her to stay here for now. I am simply asking for your blessing that some day, maybe in a year or two from now, I may have the honour of marrying her", said they young king as soothingly as he could. Imrahil smiled.

"I thank you for your consideration. Young people in love can be rather impatient in these matters", the prince answered.

"Of course it would be a dream come true if I could marry her tonight, but I see your point of view. I am willing to wait for her, no matter how long it takes", Éomer confessed. Though he wouldn't have expected that, it was actually very easy to talk of his feelings for her with Imrahil. The older man nodded.

"I will not give you my answer yet. I need to think of this... I need to decide what is best for my daughter", the Prince said finally. But as they rose up, he placed a hand on Éomer's shoulder. "Do not despair. I admit I would rather like to see you as my son-in-law."

"It is an honour to hear such words from a fine man like you", said the Lord of the Mark and nodded to the Prince of Dol Amroth.

Of course he was a little disappointed, even though he had very much expected an answer like Imrahil had given him. He had known there would be no quick wedding to finally unite him and her, yet he could not help dreaming. It felt like he had waited for her for years... but then, Lothíriel _was_ a woman worth waiting for.

They had made the Promise. Surely that could not be in vain?

At least the commotion in the city finally started to calm down and Lothíriel's family began to believe that she really was home, alive and well. Éomer had been careful not to disturb the family during the first rush of relief and happiness. Though he had her for himself almost every night, the longing for her presence was almost painful. And from the way she looked to him whenever they happened to see each other he knew that the princess was missing him just as much. So, on one sunny afternoon he went to ask whether it would be possible for him to take her out for a walk (Éowyn and Faramir would of course come along – it would not have been proper for him to be alone with her especially now that a proposal of marriage had been made). With a smile (and a curious glance) Imrahil prompted his daughter to go and enjoy the young king's company, which made her look immensely happy. After giving her father an affectionate kiss on his brow, she hurriedly fetched proper walking shoes, and then she met Éomer, Éowyn and Faramir in the courtyard. The king offered his arm to the princess, who took it eagerly, and they left for the shore. As Imrahil had become somewhat overprotective of his daughter, Éomer ordered Éothain and three other of his own men to follow them in case something should happen, even though he could not even think of what kind of danger there could possibly wait for them on the beach. But it consoled Imrahil so he didn't object – Lothíriel would no doubt take care of that herself when she began to feel her father's concern was too overbearing.

As they walked on the shore, Lothíriel and Éomer were much left alone. Éowyn and Faramir were deep in their own conversation, although they remembered to cast strict glances at the other pair's direction (though Faramir appeared to be unable to hide his smiles) to show that they were very much observed. Éothain and the guards followed closely behind. So, the two of them were effectively left to their own devices.

He told her of the proposal, which instantly brought a large smile on her face.

"We spoke of it last night, before I went to bed. I think he is going to approve. He tried to be all secretive and neutral, but I think he'd rather like having you as a son-in-law", the princess said.

"What father would not be, when their daughter has the chance to marry me?" the young king smiled.

"Should I be worried of competition?" she inquired and her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Lady Clauriel would probably think so", he said dryly. As if her name had somehow summoned her, she and her friends appeared on the beach. "She has been flirting rather enthusiastically at me whenever we come across each other."

When Éomer told of Erfréa's little performance, Lothíriel giggled.

"Oh, she's a precious thing. Maybe you should consider making her an adviser of yours, if she's so effective in getting rid of people you don't want to deal with", she said and grinned.

"I must consider that, beloved. The idea of her handling my advisers is very amusing", he said with a smile.

Their relaxed conversation came to an end as Lady Clauriel and her company came across them. Éomer was not sure if he just imagined it – his imagination could be very suspicious at times – but to him it seemed like Clauriel was eyeing Lothíriel in a way he did not like very much.

"Good day, Lady Clauriel. I trust you have already met Éomer King?" Lothíriel said, smiling serenely at the other ladies.

"Indeed I have, Princess. We had such a wonderful conversation one day, didn't we my lord? He told me everything about Rohan", Clauriel said, answering the other woman's smile sweetly.

"Everything? My, you must have quite a discussion. After spending about six months in the Mark I still feel I do not know the half of it", Lothíriel commented.

"My lady, is it true that you were there at the Helm's Deep when the Battle of Hornburg took place?" one of the younger ladies asked suddenly. She looked very young, Éomer noted – at most, she had to be fourteen or fifteen summers. But she had an enthusiastic glint in her eyes that craved for stories. It was no wonder, of course: as there had been little interaction (during daytime, that was) with him and her, she had enjoyed the company of other noble ladies even less. However, stories of her adventures up north were already something of a common knowledge, and the King himself had heard some very grand tales that had nothing to do with the reality. Of course people would be eager to question her whether the stories really were true.

"It is true", Lothíriel answered. He could feel her shivering and he cast a quick, concerned look at her. The battle could not have been a pleasant memory for her.

"Sweet Elbereth! It must have been horrible. Did you see any orcs?" the young girl asked.

"I did see some, but most of them were dead by the time I came across them", said the Princess quietly and Éomer tried to think of something to change the topic. Luckily, he didn't have to interfere.

"What about the walking trees? Did the forest really come alive?" another girl asked.

"Yes. It was probably the oddest thing I've ever seen in my life", Lothíriel answered. Éomer remembered that as well, but it was not really something he was fond of reminiscing. Even after all the great battles, the eerie forest was still one of the creepiest things he had ever seen.

"And what did you do during the battle?" Clauriel asked the Princess.

"Master Higeróf, who was in charge of the healers of Hornburg, ordered me to the caves and help tending to the wounded", Lothíriel said. She looked quickly up at the young king beside her, and he guessed she was thinking of what had occurred when the cave had been breached... it was probably for the better if _that _was never discussed, especially not in Imrahil's vicinity.

"Is it not improper for a woman of your rank? What does your lord father say?" Clauriel inquired with the same sweetness as earlier.

"If saving lives can be called improper", Éomer commented dryly, already growing weary of this conversation. "As a matter of fact, the Rohirrim have much respect for actions such as our princess'. In the Riddermark, true honour and nobility lies in actions, not just in bloodline."

Masterfully controlling her face, only a small shift of Clauriel's eyes revealed her irritation at his words. Her voice did not, however, betray any of her emotions.

"You have such a fascinating culture, my lord!" she chirped and patted his arm as if they already were very good friends. He could not help but flinch at the touch (he had never particularly liked others touching him, except when it came to people he knew and loved).

"Thank you, my lady", he said in a low voice, clinging to whatever patience he had left.

Thankfully, the dutiful chaperones Éowyn and Faramir approached the group then. Both nodded slightly to the young court ladies, with the fair Rohir woman managing an air of dignified indifference as usually was her habit when it came to young courtiers.

"Shall we turn back, brother?" she asked with straight plainness.

"Of course, sister", Éomer agreed, grateful for Éowyn's interruption. He nodded to the young ladies and then turned back to follow Éowyn and Faramir who were leading the way in a very regal way.

"Is Lady Clauriel always so insufferable, or is it just something only I succeed in bringing about?" Éomer asked Lothíriel in a low voice.

"You would not believe her disappointment when Elphir married. She was so annoyed that she was not old enough for marriage then! Obviously she has set her eyes on a bigger fish this time", the princess sniggered.

"I wish your father would allow us to marry already. I am starting to become tired of being evaluated like some piece of meat at the market", he muttered darkly.

"My poor man", Lothíriel smiled and patted his arm. "I would give you a comforting kiss if I could."

"My survival might require more than just one kiss", he commented, his mood already improving.

"Oh dear! You are injured badly, I see", she bemoaned.

"I am. Only your loving touch can bring me back to life now", he sighed and cast a suffering look up in to the heavens, which made her giggle even more.

They were still laughing when they entered the courtyard of the palace. Amrothos came striding towards them.

"There you are, little sister! I already thought you had disappeared once more!" he exclaimed and came to hug her.

"You think Éomer would have let that happen again, brother?" she smiled. "With him, Éowyn and Faramir accompanying me, what danger could possibly come across me?"

"You underestimate yourself, my lady", Éomer said fondly. "Did I ever tell you, Amrothos, how your sister shot a Dunlending at the tender age of 9 and shortly after ran with a bow in her hand towards the face of danger? Or how she prevented Aradhain's advances and took his eye as a payback?"

"_You _did that, Lothíriel? Dear Elbereth!" Amrothos cried out. "I swear, if you spend any more time in the Mark, you will soon become quite a Shieldmaiden yourself!"

Lothíriel blushed slightly at that and slapped her brother's arm.

"I will leave that into far more capable hands", she said and glanced at Éowyn. "If I remember correctly, certain young Rohir was very appalled with me hunting Dunlendings."

"And he was that for a good reason", Éomer said, not taken aback.

Their conversation was interrupted when an elderly servant came to the scene and called: "Prince Imrahil asks to see his daughter and the King of Rohan."

The two shared a quick glance, both their hearts suddenly picking up speed. Amrothos looked at them curiously, but Éowyn and Faramir's smiles were knowing and pleased. Indeed, to Éomer it looked like his sister mouthed _"good luck". _

"Shall we go then, my lady? We shouldn't keep your father waiting", Éomer noted and Lothíriel gave him a shaky smile.

Imrahil was waiting for them in his study, staring out to the sea like his habit was. He turned to face the two when the servant had closed the door behind them. The young king studied his face intently, hoping to see what the Prince was thinking... and what he was about to tell the two of them. But Imrahil's expression was unreadable.

Lothíriel looked quickly at her father, and then to Éomer; her eyes were restless.

"Well? It's about our marriage, isn't it?" she asked anxiously when Imrahil would not speak. "You'll give your consent, won't you?"

"It would be a great honour and even greater happiness if you did, my friend", Éomer concurred.

Imrahil stayed silent for one moment more, and then he sighed.

"I have considered it, yes. And I must say it is not an easy decision that I have made. I do feel it is the right one, though", said the Prince at last, his voice just as unreadable as his face was.

"Then speak up, Father!" Lothíriel urged. She held on to the young king's hand more tightly then, and he too felt the tension more unbearable with each passing moment. Imrahil looked at his daughter, and now his eyes became serious.

"You must understand that I only think of your welfare, my dear daughter. And as such, I have come to the conclusion that this marriage should not happen. You can't leave for Rohan again, not after the horrors that haunted you there. I am sorry, Éomer King, but I will not give my consent for your marriage."

* * *

**A/N: **Oh well. Do I get flogged now?

This is yet another largely revised chapter, though it also has material from the very first draft. Originally, things went very different... but in the end I decided it was not really what was needed. I considered yet another split here but then deciced against it, even if this chapter ended up being kind of long.

You're probably wondering why Imrahil said no. That will be elaborated in the next chapter, but it is very much in progress at the moment so I'm not sure how soon I can get it done and updated here.

As for Aradhain... I know you guys would love to see him get the punishment he deserves, and before any of you asks: I won't say whether we will see him again or not. You'll just have to wait and see.

Thanks again for all the comments! I really appreciate all the support and kind words! :)

* * *

**Talia119 - **Hopefully Imrahil's explanation answers to your question, but if not: Aradhain left Dol Amroth because he feared Lothíriel would be alive - and thus able to tell what kind of man he is. So, he was more or less hiding in Pelargir, probably trying to decide what to do next and where to go. As for why Éomer did not carry a sword, it's probably because he was trying to blend in.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

_May 3020, Edoras_

The capital of Rohan was located on a great hill that shot up from the plains like some fist of an earth giant. In the light of glorious morning of May, it looked like the roof of the Golden Hall was on fire, but Glorfindel knew it was just a trick created by sunlight hitting the gilded roof. Nevertheless it was a sight he stopped to marvel for a while before he urged his horse forward.

His visit in Orthanc had taken longer than he had first planned, but that was not something he regretted: he had a feeling he would not have another chance for speaking with the Shepherds of the Trees. Altogether it had been a fascinating visit, and he'd return Imladris with many, many stories.

From Isengard he had ridden to Hornburg, where he had spent a week or so, tremendously entertained by the dwarves who were working there. Then word had arrived that Éomer King had returned from Dol Amroth and Glorfindel had decided he'd continue his journey. If the King's hospitality allowed it, he'd stop in Edoras for a while, after which he'd continue to Minas Tirith. It would probably prove a lengthy trip, but he hoped to be back in Rivendell to perhaps join Lord Elrond for that one last journey West, or at least bid farewell to his old friend. Though Glorfindel knew their time here in Middle-earth was coming to an end, he felt there were still few things he had to do... though he was not so certain what those things were.

When he finally rode to the yard of the Golden Hall, a stablehand came to receive his steed; Glorfindel thanked the helpful man with a smile and strode for the stone steps leading up to Meduseld. He more or less expected to see excited, light-hearted bustle about there, something that would imply an approaching royal wedding. But that was not what he saw. Instead, Glorfindel noticed solemn faces, and he wondered what this was about. Surely there would have been a happy atmosphere now that the Princess had returned alive? She and her King had been talking of marriage when he had last seen them, and both of them had been so hopeful...

His thoughts were interrupted then as young Erfréa approached him, her stride something between a walk and a run.

"Master Glorfindel!" she exclaimed happily at the sight of him, and then the girl grabbed him in an affectionate hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

"Lady Erfréa. Good to see you too", smiled the elf when she pulled back.

"Welcome to Meduseld! I trust your journey went well?" she asked.

"It was pleasant but mostly uneventful. I came back as soon as I heard your King had returned from Dol Amroth. Tell me, when does the royal wedding take place?" Glorfindel inquired.

At that, her smile became a frown, and she hesitated. He was about to ask what was wrong when another Rohir approached. Though he was aged and years had turned his hair white, his back was still straight and he walked with a warrior's gait. On his face, there was a friendly smile. Erfréa turned and gestured at the man.

"My lord, this is Gamling. He's one of the King's trusted men. Gamling, this is Master Glorfindel from Lord Elrond's household", she introduced the Rohir and the elf to each other.

"I bid you most welcome to Edoras, my lord. What business brings you here?" he asked and bowed his head.

"Well met, Master Gamling. I was hoping to meet with the King. Is he in residence?" asked the elf, casting a glance about as if the Lord of the Mark might appear any moment. But the tall golden-haired man was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, he is", Gamling said and a troubled look briefly vacated his face, and it was not entirely unlike that of Erfréa's. "I must say, Béma himself must have sent you."

"Why is that?" Glorfindel asked. He was growing more curious by the second. Something was obviously wrong here and it bothered him very much. "I hope the King is not in poor health, at least."

"My lord is hale as ever, as far as matters of the heart are not concerned", answered Erfréa and shook her head.

"Has something happened to Princess Lothíriel? Surely she has not changed her mind?" Glorfindel asked, though he did not even know how that would have been possible. At his question, the two Rohirs shared a glance and they sighed almost simultaneously.

"It does concern the Princess, yes. But it is not her fault that our King is returned to unhappiness once again", he said quietly. "Forgive me – we are being most unwelcoming here. Surely you'd prefer refreshment before talking about these matters?"

"Not at all. If something is wrong with Éomer King and Princess Lothíriel, then I wish to know it right away. I consider them both my dear friends", Glorfindel argued.

Gamling nodded and lead the elf to sit by one of the tables nearby, and Erfréa followed after them. A servant brought them some ale, and the old man poured cups for them. Glorfindel wasn't much of a friend of ale but he accepted a cup mostly out of politeness. Once the old Rohir had taken a long sip of his drink, he began to speak.

"After our King returned with the Princess, it seemed that all our troubles were finally past and that peace would take root here in Meduseld. The two of them floated about like two love-birds and never really came down before they left for Gondor. She had to be reunited with her family, of course, and Éomer King decided to escort her there. So we were left waiting and hoping that once he'd return, it would be with news of an official engagement. Granted, he did ask for her hand in marriage, but Prince Imrahil said no", he started the explanation and took another sip of ale. The elf listened quietly, barely remembering his own cup.

"Don't ask us why that is. It didn't make any sense then and it does not make sense now", Erfréa commented with a grimace. She too took a mighty gulp of ale.

"The King himself won't speak of it, of course. But Lady Erfréa here was present and saw herself what precisely took place, so perhaps I should let her to tell the rest of the story", Gamling said slowly. The young woman nodded.

"Gladly, Master Gamling", she said and cleared her throat. "After Imrahil had made it known he would not give his consent, Éomer King was very upset of course. Well, what do you expect with that temper of his? But Lothig was outraged too – I've never seen her so angry. So, two days after, he made the attempt of stealing her and bringing her back to Rohan. Some people are eager to insist it was the King's idea, but I would have you know that the Princess Lothíriel was the one who came up with the plan. She asked him to take her with him."

"I take it this plan did not go too well", Glorfindel said softly, and Erfréa nodded.

"You are correct. He was able to smuggle her out of the castle in the middle of night and start for the journey. Everything went well until we were half-way down to the city gates. Then her two brothers, who were returning from some nightly adventure of theirs, came across us and of course they recognised her right away. Guards were called... and you can very well guess what happened next", said the young woman. She frowned and continued: "Imrahil would likely have declared war on Rohan had King Elessar not been there to mediate. Be it as may, Éomer King left the city that same night and he seems to have decided never to speak again with Lothig's father – who appears to share the sentiment."

"And the King did not try to get to the Princess again?" Glorfindel asked.

"Aye, I suppose he would have, had not Imrahil made it clear that he would not be allowed to see the Princess again. The moment Lothig's father heard that Éomer King had tried to abduct her, he surrounded her with heavily armed Swan Knights", Erfréa said.

"So, Imrahil has effectively imprisoned his own daughter", the elf said at length, barely believing what he had just heard.

"Insane, isn't it? But they say he hasn't been the same ever since her disappearance, and even if she has been returned alive, it has done nothing to improve his ways. I suppose the Prince is just scared of losing her again, and the attempted abduction really did not help him get over it. You know, people do crazy things for love – especially when they are hurt", Gamling sighed.

"I see", Glorfindel said, half to himself. "Where might I find the King? I'd like to exchange couple of words with him."

"He's outside. I'll take you to him, if it please you", Erfréa offered.

"It would, very much", said the elf, and he offered the two of them a smile.

Out they went, and the young woman lead him to the backside of the Golden Hall. Halfway there, she looked at the elf in concern, "It would mean much to me, and all of us really, if you could help our King... and our Princess as well. She _is _our princess too, after all."

Glorfindel conjured an encouraging smile on his face.

"I will do what I can, Lady Erfréa. I promise that. I wish to see your King and the Princess happy just as you do", he promised, which brought a smile on her face too.

They turned around the corner then, and there on a stone bench stood the King of Rohan. He was concentrating on a piece of wood in his hands, which he was carving with a look that might imply he was working on something that would change the course of history.

"My lord", Erfréa called carefully, but the King did not lift his eyes from his work. "My lord, Master Glorfindel is here to see you."

The mention of the elf's name finally sparked Éomer's attention. He put the piece of wood aside and stood up. Though he seemed tired and just generally grim, he did smile as he approached the elf.

"Good to see you here, friend. Welcome to Meduseld", he said and lay a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. The elf answered his friend's smile.

"Likewise, Éomer. Might I join you?" he asked.

"Of course, of course. I trust Lady Erfréa has already looked after you?" inquired the King and gestured the other one to sit beside him on the bench. The young woman gave her king an inquisitive look, but Éomer signed he could go along, and she took her leave.

"I wished to speak with you at first", Glorfindel said as he settled down. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again, "She told me what happened in Dol Amroth."

A look of misery briefly appeared on the young king's face and he let out a heavy sigh. He picked up the wood he had been working on and turned it about in his hands. It was mostly shapeless yet, but Glorfindel thought he could already see something like a bird's beak.

"And a merry story that must have been", Éomer said quietly, staring down at the wood. "Before you start to lecture me, I know I did wrong when I tried to steal her. I see now that all it accomplished was making Imrahil an enemy and ensuring that what chance there was for him to relent was lost. But I was so upset... and I couldn't stand the idea of losing her again. One does not really think in that sort of situation."

He sighed again, and continued, "It's horrible, to have all that you could dream of just at the reach of your hand, and then it is taken away once again. Life without her is a crude joke... but at least she's alive and safe."

"I am very sorry to hear what happened", Glorfindel said empathetically. "It is... I suppose I see why he would do what he did, even if it is wrong. Losing a child is a horror to any parent who loves their offspring, and the prospect of losing her again probably scared him senseless."

Éomer grunted as an answer. As he sat there staring down, he somehow was able to embody so much bitterness and unhappiness that it wrenched the elf's heart as well.

"What does Aragorn say?" he asked. "I don't imagine he was too happy with the situation either?"

"No, he wasn't", said the young king quietly. "Especially because he can't take sides. He was literally caught in between rock and a hard place. He's the King of Gondor after all... he has to keep up peace and make compromises. I was angry with him too at first – at least until I realised how I owe it to him that there's no war between Rohan and Dol Amroth now. Later I heard he tried to reason with Imrahil, but the Prince won't hear any of it... not even from Aragorn."

"But he's the King of Gondor. He could order Imrahil to give Lothíriel's hand in marriage to you", Glorfindel said.

"Aye, he could. But Aragorn won't do that. The Prince is one of his chief captains and it would only raise bad blood between them if he tried to make her father do something he is so against", Éomer sighed.

"I see", Glorfindel said thoughtfully. He was already thinking his visit in Edoras would have to be a lot shorter than he had originally thought. In fact, he would probably have to drop the trip to Minas Tirith as well. This situation could not go on like this any longer, not when peace and a conclusion to the times of uncertainty was so needed.

He placed a hand on the young king's shoulder and gave him a kind smile.

"Do not fret, my friend. I will go and visit the Prince and his family. And I will speak with Imrahil of all this", he promised gently.

"I'm thankful, but what could you possibly say to change his mind?" Éomer asked, his face doubtful.

"It may very well be that I can tell him just the thing he needs to hear. And perhaps time has done half my work for me. He can't be so stubborn as to not understand how this situation strains the relations in a way that can't go on", Glorfindel told him.

"Thank you, my friend. If you can turn Imrahil's head, then I will be forever in your debt", said the young king heartily, and for the first time, the elf could see hope in his dark eyes. Glorfindel smiled.

"Oh, it is nothing. I watched Lothíriel linger too long in the shadows and I don't want her to fall back there again. If there is anything I can do, I will do it gladly."

* * *

In some ways, it felt like time had just stopped moving. Or perhaps it was that _she _was motionless while the time dragged by. Days were long, to the point of merging to one another. And days were grey.

Lothíriel did not have to ask why it felt like that. _He _had been close by ever since he had ridden to Rivendell, and his presence had felt like waking up from a long and dark dream. Now she felt like she was falling back to that dream with no knowledge if she'd be awakened again.

She did as she was told. She ate, she slept, she worked in the House of Healing. She spoke if something was asked and sat silent if not. Sometimes, she didn't know where the time went. She'd just look up from her hands and notice that the evening had fallen while she had been lost in her thoughts. One time, she picked up a green cloth and started to embroider it: the White Horse appeared as if by itself. She remembered how it looked like in the banners, and sometimes it would race through her dreams. And those were the good dreams.

Sometimes, when she missed him more than usual, she'd go and sit with Sunrise in the stables. Father had said she wasn't allowed to go riding, not for some time at least. Apparently he thought she might try and escape. But Lothíriel had once ridden alone into the wild and she had no wish to do it again.

The Princess remembered being angrier than she had ever been before, shouting until her throat hurt and then crying and crying until she was exhausted. She had refused sleep and food. None of it had changed anything, though. Then one morning she had gotten up, sat down at the breakfast table, and ate what they offered her. Aredhel said it would get better and she waited for the day that would come true, but she wasn't sure when that would be.

She saw the looks on their faces, of course. How they'd each day be more worried, how they lowered their voices as they whispered and she knew what they thought. Well, they saw her and heard her when the nightmares came. Her brothers thought she was losing it. That wasn't probably so untrue.

And yet a small part of remained, though it felt like smaller each passing day, that still thought of sun and dreamed of life and things like that; that part had been so large before and she wondered how it could have grown so small. But she was starting to understand it was a more vulnerable part than she had thought. It was something that had been hurt in the wild and it had not healed, not completely. Quietly, she wondered what would happen on that day when the last of it would die.

* * *

Glorfindel made haste on his way to Dol Amroth, and so it was less than a week later that he arrived to the city of princes by the sea. Most of his hurry was because of his concern for Lothíriel: he feared how this all had affected her and how he'd find her once he'd arrive. He had spent so much time watching her walk in the shadows that it was not something he wished to see again.

As such, he took little note of the city itself. Perhaps there would be time for that later, when all things had been taken care of... and hopefully with success.

The palace stood proud facing the sea; it reminded Glorfindel of the cities the men of Númenor had built. And the sight of the vastness of the waters made him feel like something whispered in his mind and called him home. It was a tempting thought, but in his heart he answered: _Soon. _

He had just entered the palace courtyard and dismounted when a young man approached. He was one of Imrahil's sons, Glorfindel remembered. He had met them all in Minas Tirith when Arwen Undómiel had wed Estel, and it seemed that those troubled looks they had worn then had become permanent. The prince that now approached him was Imrahil's second-born, called Erchirion.

"My lord Glorfindel", called the prince, evidently surprised that the elf would be here.

"Prince Erchirion", said the elf and nodded politely at the man.

"What brings you here in Dol Amroth? I thought you parted ways with my sister some time ago", Erchirion said.

"That I did, but I wished to come and visit the Princess here in her home city. Where might I find your sister? I have something for her", Glorfindel said.

"She was with our aunt and sister-in-law", Erchirion said. "I'd think Father would want to greet you as well."

"And I have business with the Prince too. But at first I'd like to speak with your sister, if that would be possible", Glorfindel insisted. He had to see how the girl was doing and that was something which could not wait for later.

"Of course. Follow me", said the prince, and lead Glorfindel inside. Apparently his presence here was found curious more or less, as some of the people they passed by gave them incredulous looks. But the elf maintained a serene smile as he followed the young man through the stone corridors of the palace.

They found the three women in a sitting room that apparently belonged to Lady Ivriniel, Imrahil's sister who had acted as something of a mother figure for the Prince's children after their mother had died. She was a noble and formidable-looking woman, and her silver hair was in elaborate braids. She wore the traditional blues and silvers of Dol Amroth, as did the two younger women with her. Glorfindel took only short notice of Lothíriel's companions: as soon as he sighted her, his attention was solely on the Lion's Lady – like some had started to call her back in Rohan.

The last time Glorfindel had seen the Princess, she had been smiling and in good cheer. Of course, her occasional nightmares had given him doubts about whether she truly was healed yet, but altogether he had felt reassured that she'd be fine. True, she smiled now as she saw him and dashed into his arms. However, it was not lost to him how deeply unwell she looked: she was thinner and like she had been losing sleep lately, and the look in her eyes disturbed him very much. It was like she was once again becoming that miserable, joyless woman who had wandered the halls of Imladris while the phantoms of her past haunted her mind.

So he held her tight and felt a small tremble go through her. When he pulled back, he thought she'd burst in tears. But she did not, and rather watched him with the eyes of someone who was about to give up.

"Dearest Lothíriel", he said gently. "I am sorry I haven't been able to come sooner."

"Better late than never", she answered softly, and a small smile appeared on her face. "You have been sorely missed."

"Well, here I am now", Glorfindel answered. He gave her a smile, something he hoped would encourage her as well.

"Did you meet with the Ents, like you were planning?" she asked. The elf nodded in agreement.

"Indeed I did. And I will tell you all about it later... but first I must give you something", he said and reached for the purse that hung from his belt and pulled out the scroll Éomer King had given him. "Here's little something from Edoras. _He _asked me to give it to you."

For the first time, something that resembled light appeared in her eyes.

"You've seen _him? _How is he?" she eagerly asked; neither of them paid any heed to the displeased snort from Lady Ivriniel's direction.

"He is well, but he misses you very much", Glorfindel said quietly. He smiled, "Go ahead. I'm sure you're eager to read his message."

Lothíriel flashed a smile, the first real one he had seen so far, and she hurried out to read the King's letter in peace. Once she was out, her aunt stood up.

"She's not supposed to receive any letters from that man", said the woman with no little annoyance. Glorfindel gave her a look from under his eyebrows.

"Is she not? Well, then I dare you to go and take that note from her, my lady. Go and do it, if you can bear watching the smile die on her face", he said sternly. Lady Ivriniel pursed her lips but did not say anything. She fell back on her seat; she looked like she was trying to pretend he wasn't there.

Glorfindel sighed. It looked like there was a balrog here to be fought, and he would have to be the one to cast it down.

* * *

Prince Imrahil was in his study, going through some reports, when Glorfindel was escorted in. The man looked up from his work and looked surprised when he saw the elf standing there.

"My lord Glorfindel", he said, lifting his eyebrows. "I did not know you were on your way here. To what do I owe this honour?"

The elf did not exactly smile as he met the Prince's gaze. The man must have seen it, for a frown came to his face.

"I came for Lothíriel. And it seems it is a good thing I did, seeing what you have done to her", Glorfindel said, his voice unforgiving. Imrahil's face turned dark at that.

"With all due respect, I do not think this concerns you", said the Prince coolly.

"Oh, it does, my lord. It very much does", the Elven lord said calmly.

"And why would you think that?" Imrahil asked, staring hard at him.

"Because the night I saw her for the first time, I decided I'd like to see her smile again. It was no life what she had in Imladris. But no matter what we did, nothing really worked – nothing made her wish to join the living again. Not at least until the day the King of Rohan rode to find her. Imrahil, you should have seen her then! How that girl laughed and smiled just because he had come for her!" Glorfindel said. Then he shook his head, "Yet now I've come to see her, and she's once again becoming that troubled shadow of a woman that she was in Imladris. I thought that was past."

"Do not mention that man while I'm listening. I do not wish to hear anything of him", Imrahil said sharply.

"Don't you hear yourself, Imrahil? Don't you see what you're doing to your own daughter?" asked the elf, his voice just as sharp. "What is your excuse to torment her so?"

"I am not tormenting her! Nor are my reasons excuses!" snapped the Prince. "Her time in Rohan brought her nothing but horror and unhappiness. She was lost to us and who knows what shadows she went through? I will not let her return there!"

"You are grasping at straws, my lord. What horrors she faced there were not because of Éomer King or any of his people. What happened to her there was because of a shadow that followed her from her own home city!" Glorfindel argued. "And to say that her time in Rohan was but horror is a lie. She has told me herself it was one of the happiest times she remembers."

Imrahil fumed at that, and the elf could tell he was desperately trying to come up with something – some reason that would convince not only Glorfindel, but also _himself. _Realising a gentler approach might be needed, he sighed and softened his tone as he spoke.

"I know you are scared of letting her go. And I realise it is even harder now. That is the reason you do this, isn't it? You can't stand the idea of seeing her leave again. But you must set your daughter free, Imrahil. Not only for herself, but for Éomer, for Rohan, and for Gondor", Glorfindel said gently.

"No. No. I can't do that. It's just an infatuation – she'll get over it, she'll-" said the Prince, with just a vaguest hint of desperation in his voice.

"She has loved Éomer almost as long as she has lived, and you know it as well, Imrahil", the Elven lord interrupted. "And she will not get over it. She won't forget him – even in Imladris, when she could remember nothing else, she dreamt of him. _He _was what she remembered. _He _was the one who brought Lothíriel back."

"It's just for her own good", her father tried, though Glorfindel could see the distress growing in his eyes. It was not a thing he enjoyed seeing, but the Prince had to understand this.

"I don't think even you really believe that, Imrahil. What you are doing to her is _killing _her", he said gravely.

"_No. _It's not like that. _Lothíriel _is not like that", Imrahil argued back. "She's not Finduilas!"

"Perhaps not the Lothíriel _you _know and remember. But she's not that girl any longer. She's not the person you sent to Rohan, Imrahil. And if you truly can't see how unwell she is, then I can only assume you are blind", Glorfindel answered. "No matter what, you will lose her. Either she'll waste away until there's nothing left in her that you once loved, or you let her go and pursue the desire of her heart. It is up to you, Imrahil. Your daughter will leave, but whether it is to death or to life is for you to choose."

* * *

As so often these days, Éomer King of Rohan sat watching the sun make its descent to west and behind the white peaks of the mountains. The sky blazed in reds and oranges and gold as another brilliant day of spring came to an end.

Absently, he turned the finished work around in his hands, feeling the contours and lines he had carved under his fingers. He thought of _her_, like he usually did when he was alone: what she was doing now, how had she fared after his departure, and if she was angry with him...

He shouldn't have left her like that. He should have come up with something to conciliate with Imrahil. It was his damned temper! And well, the Prince had made it very clear that he was not wanted in Dol Amroth. So, in fury and despair, he had jumped on Firefoot and ridden away. Only when he was back in Edoras and her absence was hammering in his chest with fire and ice did he realise what mistake he had made.

_Oh, Lothíriel. _What a mindless idiot he had been when he had abandoned her! No wounded pride was worth losing her.

The young king sighed to himself and rubbed his forehead. Glorfindel had gone to her, and perhaps the Elven lord could make her believe how sorry he was. And maybe... he dared not to hope, but maybe Glorfindel would also find a way to reason with Imrahil.

The sun had set, and he felt tired. So he got up on his feet and slowly made his way back inside. Though sleep was an elusive beast these days, Éomer decided he should at least try and have some rest. Another day filled with work was ahead of him and it would not do if he snored away his meetings with the advisers.

Once in the royal bedchamber, he lay the result of his carving work beside the wooden horse. There it sat, more eloquent than his handicraft of many years back was.

In a way, it was fitting: perhaps he was as rugged and coarse as the horse was and she as graceful as the swan.

* * *

**A/N: **This was one of those chapters that pretty much wrote itself. So you get an early update and bit more angst.

Now, a couple of words on Imrahil's actions (and, I suppose, as an answer to **Talia199 **and **memory bleeds**). He does seem to be acting irrational here, no? **memory bleeds **rightly noted that it doesn't seem to make much sense that he'd be scared of what will happen in Rohan if she goes to live there. That is pretty much the point: he's not being rational. He's not thinking straight. He's thinking as a father who has been deeply hurt by the disappearance of his child. Ultimately, his disapproval of Éomer marrying Lothíriel is because - like Glorfindel says - he is scared of letting his daughter go. So he tells no. And our love-birds don't improve the situation with their attempt to run away together. In fact, it is just hitting Imrahil where it hurts the most at the moment. However, neither of them realise how this wounds her father because they're just so desperate to be together, and as a result Imrahil reacts very angrily and violently. Now, are his reactions rational? No, definitely not. But are they human? I think so, yes. Essentially I think all their reactions in this chapter are very human. Flawed, but human.

As for Lothíriel... well, though she was certainly improving and feeling better after Éomer came to Rivendell, I personally felt she was not completely healed yet. As Aragorn noted in the last chapter, for her final remedy she needs to move on with her life. However, being denied that has a not so good effect on her recovery. The shock of her father's disapproval, the abduction gone wrong, and then Éomer leaving all come as a shock that has her in a way moving backwards. So here you see her deeply unwell, and Éomer doesn't even know that she's at that state because he has not have word of her ever since he left Dol Amroth. He'd probably try to breach her home palace if he did know how unwell she is. But we'll see where this all goes now that Glorfindel has come to talk sense.

Thanks for comments and for reading!


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

_May 3020, Edoras_

Years ago, when Théoden King had still lived and before the ill influence of Gríma Wormtongue had fallen on him, he had often met with his council in the great hall of Meduseld. A table would be carried there for him, and it would spread his maps and reports on it while he negotiated with his advisers and planned war campaigns and dealt with the daily running business of the realm. From his childhood, Éomer could remember seeing his uncle there many, many times. Yet often when the King's young nephew had entered the hall, weathered from a ride or his battle training, Uncle had always had time to smile and ask what he had learned today.

When Éomer had become the King, he had at first tried to keep the matters of the realm in the council chamber, but the dusty, crammed space did nothing to improve his focus. In fact, he had felt caged there. So, after a while he had decided his late Uncle had had the right of it, and so he too had started to have his council meetings in the great hall. Of course being the King meant different things here in Rohan than for example in Gondor, and his relationship with his subjects was closer than Aragorn's, so it felt somehow right and natural that he should be seen exercising his rule each day.

That was what he was doing when the word came. They were talking of establishing new settlements in the Wold when Éothain strode in, closely followed by a man the King had never seen before. His blue and grey garb along with the swan emblem announced his origins: he was from Dol Amroth.

Éomer straightened up and studied the man; he had no idea what this could be about. Was it a good sign?

"Sire, a messenger from Dol Amroth has come", Éothain said. Though the captain was trying to keep a straight face, the King knew his captain well enough to notice the intensely hopeful look in the older man's eyes.

"I have some letters for Your Majesty", said the messenger, pulling out sealed scrolls from his bag. "One from Prince Imrahil and one from Princess Lothíriel."

At that, Éomer's heart picked up speed. He eagerly snatched the scrolls from the Gondorian's hands, unsure which one he should read first. He was anxious to read what his beloved had written, as he had not heard of her ever since he had left Dol Amroth... but he knew that if he should read her letter now, he'd probably be unable to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day.

The messenger solved that problem for him, though, as he continued, "Also, I come with a formal invitation for Your Majesty. If it please my lord, Imrahil would like you to travel south to Dol Amroth, for there is much he'd like to speak of with you."

* * *

_June 3020, Dol Amroth_

For the umpteenth time on that day, Lothíriel stopped her restless pacing to stare out of the window, somehow managing to look both forlorn and excited and hopeful at the same time.

And no wonder that it was so. Today, Éomer King of Rohan was due to arrive in Dol Amroth. His visit was much expected because of various reasons, but none was so anxious for it as Lothíriel was. Hopefully the friendship between the Houses of Eorl and Dol Amroth would be re-established, and then... well, her father-in-law had not really spoken of it yet, but Aredhel was fairly sure of what would happen.

Emotionally, the past few months had been very changeable, even exhausting. It had been painful to watch her dear sister-in-law so troubled and unhappy, and she knew she was not the only one who was now feeling relieved at the young princess' vastly improved spirits. Altogether the atmosphere in the palace had become lighter again, owed in no small part to what had happened on one day of late May.

It had been several days after Lord Glorfindel's arrival. Like a furious and determined storm he had ridden from north, lecturing the Prince himself in a way Aredhel would never have expected anyone to be able. She did not know what words had been exchanged between the two but she had seen how deeply influential it had been. For few days, Imrahil had sat silent and lost in his thoughts, and every now and then he'd look at his daughter with a helpless expression in his eyes. She had spent most of her time talking with Glorfindel and she had been on a better mood than ever since her King had ridden away.

Then, on a rainy afternoon when Aredhel had been sitting with Lady Ivriniel and Lothíriel, Imrahil had entered the parlour; he had worn a rueful little smile when he had said he was going to send a messenger to invite King Éomer back to Dol Amroth, and he had asked if his daughter would like to send a letter to her beloved horselord. A large smile had lit up Lothíriel's face as she had leapt from her chair and dashed to hug her father. Seeing the look of happiness on her face, Aredhel had known Imrahil had made the right choice.

Lothíriel who had returned from north was not the same one that had left her family almost two years past. Of course, it was understandable that it should not be so – not after what she had lived through. She was more quiet and reserved... and more troubled too. But there were times when Aredhel could see that girl who had left for Rohan with such a hopeful look on her face, and for a moment things would be like they had been back in the simpler times. Perhaps that girl, or at least some of her light, could be returned with time... and with love.

Thinking back, Aredhel decided it was more or less obvious what affection she had for the King of Rohan. Though the distance was between them both in time and space, he had always been such a central figure of her life: Aredhel very well remembered how her sister-in-law had sometimes spoken of him, and how she'd write those letters for him with a look of intense concentration on her face. And how happy she had always been to receive a message from him! When they were together, the way they would not stop looking at each other said it all; how his solemn face would become so soft, and how that light appeared in her eyes at the sight of him and the sound of his voice. And when he was gone... the desperate extent of Lothíriel's need for her King was hard to comprehend. How two people could be so completely attached to each other, Aredhel could not tell. But then, her love for Elphir had always run a smooth course. And, to be honest, she was not so sure she envied her sister-in-law. Though the love she had for King Éomer was certainly a bond of kindred souls, it also seemed like a burden. But that was something Aredhel kept to herself.

Éowyn and Faramir had arrived from Ithilien as well, both as the representatives of the King and Queen of Gondor and family members. It was good to have them back too, for after the incident back in April, they had left almost as quickly as Éomer King had. Though Éowyn did not necessarily agree with her brother's actions, she was unfalteringly supportive of him and Imrahil's outburst had seemed almost like a personal insult to her.

"I suppose it is useless for me to ask you to sit down for a while", Aredhel commented after a while. They were sitting in the parlour again, waiting for the word that the King's Company was approaching. Little Alphros was in the middle of his games on the floor; apparently all the talks of late about the horselords had inspired the child and his favourite toys were now riding toy soldiers Erchirion had brought for him from the markets. Aunt Ivriniel would usually have been with them, but it was looking like the elderly woman was pleading to being ill: she was the only one who still disapproved of the whole situation. Aredhel wasn't so sure why that was, as Imrahil's sister had seen just as well as the others how miserable the young princess had been. But then, Ivriniel was one of those people who kept true to their principles in good and bad. And then there was the fact that Lady Éowyn was present as well, and the Shieldmaiden's fiercely protective attitude of her brother really did not meet a grateful reception with Lady Ivriniel. Really, placing the two women in the same room was just tempting the fates.

"What do you think?" Lothíriel asked and started to pace about once again. An incredulous smile came to her face. "I'm going to see _him. _I'm still not sure if this is just some sweet dream that is soon going to end."

"I can pinch you, if that would reassure you", Éowyn said and smiled at the younger woman. Lothíriel answered the smile with one of her own; Aredhel thought to herself it was good to see her doing that again. She continued her pacing about, until finally, Amrothos barged in.

"Ladies, get going! The King of Rohan is approaching, and if he keeps up that speed he was racing with towards the city, I'd hurry. Otherwise we'll have him charging the palace in the search of Lothíriel", said the prince, at which the princess let out an excited squeal. She picked up her skirts and ran – Aredhel wouldn't have been too surprised if her sister-in-law would soon be seen running to meet the King.

* * *

Aredhel could not remember if she had ever seen a reunion as emotional as the one she witnessed that day. Her sister-in-law remained like a cat on hot bricks until the very last moment when her King rode into the courtyard. At the sight of him, she stood a bit straighter and taller, and tension left her form: in a way, it was like she glowed. Once he spotted her among her family, he had eyes only for her. He dismounted, threw his helmet carelessly at one of his men, and practically flew to meet her as his solemn face turned into a large smile.

Letting out a sound that was something in between a laugh and a cry, Lothíriel dashed into his arms and he caught her, and both their expressions were so blissful that one could have thought they had been parted for years instead of just months. And as far as Aredhel could tell, that moment it did not even occur to the two that they were not alone or that her father was watching.

She glanced at the Prince, who stood beside her. He watched the scene with a bitter-sweet expression, and Aredhel placed a comforting hand on his arm. Imrahil looked down at his daughter-in-law, and a look of fondness was there with sadness.

"She truly does adore him, doesn't she?" he stated quietly.

"She does, Father Imrahil", Aredhel agreed softly. He looked regretful and she realised it was because he was only just realising what he had put his daughter through.

"I don't think we'll have to be worried for her. She'll be fine, because he adores her just as much", she said, offering his father-in-law a gentle smile.

"And that is the only reason I bear to part with her", Imrahil said. He sighed, and then he summoned a polite smile to his face as he strode to meet with the King of Rohan.

* * *

It was one of those golden afternoons of June when the summer is still young and fresh. The weather was warm even for this time of year, so there was of course no other way to spend it than in a pavilion in the palace's garden. To satisfy the demands of propriety Aredhel, Éowyn and some ladies in waiting were sat nearby on a blanket spread on the grass, but effectively the newly-engaged pair was left in peace.

After Éomer's arrival two days ago, Imrahil had asked to speak with his daughter and the King once the royal guest had settled down. So, when he had quickly bathed and changed into his usual green and gold, Éomer had joined Imrahil and Lothíriel in the Prince's study. Apologies had been exchanged, and then Imrahil had finally given his consent to the two lovers' marriage. The princess had rushed to hug her father, but then he had said a betrothal time of two years would have to take place.

That had almost had the young king losing his temper, but it appeared he did not even have to fight this battle: Lothíriel very much took care of that. After some shouting and arguing, Imrahil finally gave in and settled for one year. Though that would still require a lot of patience, both the King and his intended understood that this compromise would have to satisfy everyone. Éomer really did not want to endanger the tentative peace between himself and Imrahil, and so he kept his complaints to himself.

It was probably common knowledge already, but the betrothal would be announced at a formal ball before Éomer would leave again for Rohan. After his travels of late, he really could not afford a long trip, even though both of them knew it would not be easy to wait for the next year.

And now they were enjoying a well-deserved moment of peace and quiet in the gardens of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel was sat against cushions on an ottoman, and Éomer lay with his head in her lap while she absently ran her fingers through his hair. Features smoothed into a small smile and with his eyes closed, he was an image of peace and contentment.

They had been silent for a while when Lothíriel spoke: "You know, Aredhel tells me people seem to think us a bit strange."

"Why is that?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Well, apparently it is peculiar that my father would invite you here... and the rumours of our marriage are even more odd. It's probably because you tried to abduct me", she said, giggling to herself, but then she frowned. "I've tried to say it wasn't an abduction, really. Can you even steal someone who wants to come with you?"

He chuckled quietly and his eyes fluttered open. He looked up at her and mirth sparkled in his dark eyes. To herself Lothíriel thought he was never more handsome than when he looked like that.

"So people find it strange that your father is going to let us marry anyway?" he asked. "Do they really have nothing better to do than to gossip like that?"

"Now, my King, be nice. It's not often that the high society is treated with such a scandal", Lothíriel said and grinned. He snorted and brought her fingers to his lips, planting a slow tender kiss on them.

"Do you think they'd enjoy it if I kissed you senseless in the front of them when your father announces our intention to marry?" he asked.

"Oh, they'd just love it", said the Princess lightly, imagining all the shocked faces if he was to show even half of his usual affection on the front of the highly proper Gondorian society.

"Hmm. Someone ought to teach you Gondorians about romance", he said and closed his eyes again. "And I'm the King of Rohan so it's not like they can stop me."

She laughed again and entwined her fingers with his. Lothíriel leant her head back and closed her eyes as well, just enjoying this moment of quiet peace.

"Your aunt does seem like she might, though", he said after a moment, his voice turning serious. "Is it because of our attempt to run away together?"

"I suppose it's at least partly because of that. My Aunt has a very strong sense of what is proper... she's a firm believer in traditions and rules. But I also think it's because of my late aunt Finduilas", she answered at length.

"What do you mean?" he wanted to know.

"My aunts were very close when they were children and young maidens. It was hard for Aunt Ivriniel when Finduilas left Dol Amroth and married my uncle. And then Aunt Finduilas died so young, and... it was hard for everyone, of course, but especially for her sister. I don't think Aunt Ivriniel never really got over it, or forgave my Grandfather for letting Finduilas leave them", she explained slowly.

"So you think she believes you'll wither and die in Rohan?" Éomer asked.

"Most like, yes. My aunt means well, but I don't think she really understands _this_", she said, squeezing his fingers gently to chase away the doubt she heard in his voice. "She's not a very passionate person anyway, so I'm not sure she really comprehends how much I need to be with you. If I should guess, she probably thinks I love you too much."

He made a sound of displeasure at that, and she leant down to kiss his forehead. She continued, "Don't worry about my aunt. She may have her opinions but ultimately, she too just wants happiness for all her family."

Her beloved looked up at her, his eyes soft and tender.

"I don't know how I will be able to wait another year", he said quietly. Indeed, the months that lay ahead seemed long and lonely. "Seems like waiting for you is all I ever do..."

"It's not long now. Just a little while more, and then we'll be together", Lothíriel whispered. "I'd wait for you forever."

The King smiled.

"I love you, Lothíriel", he told her.

"I love you too, Éomer."

* * *

The night of the ball was warm and the scent of flowers floated in from the open doors and windows. The mood was festive and excited, and no wonder: tonight, it had been finally confirmed official that next spring, King Éomer would wed Princess Lothíriel. It was good to see how happy that announcement made the two, and with a smile Glorfindel watched them beam at each other when Imrahil placed her hand in that of the King. It was quite the contrast to the misery the elf had seen on those faces when he had first arrived from Hornburg.

The gathering in the palace was rather large. Apparently celebrations of impending royal marriages required a lot of attention. He found it fascinating as well, and Glorfindel knew it would be one of the last feasts he'd take part in this side of the sea. And the wedding of Lothíriel and Éomer would likely be the very last, as she had asked him to participate. Seeing the urgent look in her eyes, he had known it was important for her, and so he had said yes.

Mostly, the guests consisted of Gondorian nobility, but some Rohirric colour was present too. Men from King's Company, all looking somewhat at loss in the middle of the crowd, flocked here and there. Not all of them seemed too awkward, though. Lady Erfréa seemed to enjoy herself immensely and a young rider called Léohtir was receiving attention from some ladies that likely brought much concern for their fathers. Glorfindel himself spent much of his time just observing the ball, but he had very enjoyable conversations with the members of the Prince's family. Most of the other guests seemed somewhat intimidated of him, although some of the more courageous individuals did come to introduce themselves and engage him in light small talk.

The newly-engaged couple stayed mostly side by side. Much of their time was consumed by speaking with well-wishers. Whenever they had a moment or two for themselves, the two of them seemed to fall right back into that place that only two lovers could ever find in the eyes of each other. Looking at them side by side, her in blues and silvers and he in light green and gold, Glorfindel supposed he could see why some people thought that it'd be strange for these two to love each other so desperately... but then, the looks in their eyes made it seem like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dancing also took place. The formal court dances were not too hard to follow, and Glorfindel joined the princess for one, and then he danced with Erfréa. The young woman came up with steps of her own – which earned her some strange looks – and towards the end of the song, she looked at the elf thoughtfully.

"Lothig tells me you're an accomplished musician and that you even know some tunes from Rohan, my lord", she stated, narrowing her eyes; one could literally see the plan forming in her mind.

"That is quite correct", he agreed, and she smiled.

"Do you think you could be persuaded to play a bit tonight, my lord?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Of course, but wouldn't it make a very lone performance?" he asked back.

"Oh, you needn't play alone. Éothain is fairly competent lutist and everyone agrees that Léohtir has one of the prettiest voices in all of the Mark. And I'm not entirely hopeless when it comes to flutes", said the young woman with a grin.

"In that case, lead the way", Glorfindel said and smiled.

It took some sweet-talking and batting of her eyelashes, but Erfréa was able to convince Imrahil's court musicians give up some of their instruments for a dance or two. Éothain was immediately happy to join the young woman's band of players, but Léohtir seemed to agree mostly out of fear his captain might be displeased if he didn't comply.

So, as they were starting to gather increasingly confused and curious looks, Glorfindel sat by the harp, Éothain tried the strings of the lute, and Léohtir cleared his throat. Then Erfréa picked up the flute and began a joyful, lively tune of a reel the Rohirrim were so fond of.

The King of Rohan and his bride were the first ones to enter the dance floor. The Princess of Ithilien followed along with her husband, and gleefully grinning Amrothos joined as well with a similarly excited-looking young courtier by his arm. As for the men of King's Company, they did not really need more encouraging than that. Some of them were able to find partners among the young courtiers, but those who couldn't just teamed up together. Léohtir's bright, powerful voice swelled: the sound of Rohirric was somehow alien in these stone halls, yet also lively and full of elation.

And the song and the reel were not met with complete distaste. Granted, Glorfindel could spot some extremely scandalised faces... but then there were those who joined the dance though the steps were unfamiliar for them, and the feeling of happiness prevailed that of disapproval. No one seemed quite as euphoric as the engaged pair as they leapt around, and the sound of his laughter boomed and mixed with the song. Then, as the people continued their dance about them, Éomer King lifted his bride from her waist high up in the air and she took support from his shoulders as he twirled her around, and idly Glorfindel thought to himself that on that moment they were the two happiest people alive.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this is a bit shorter chapter, but I felt something like this was needed. For one, I think here everyone reaches some understanding and acceptance of things that need to happen.

Also, Lutist Éothain makes another appearance! I can't really help it but my idea of him is now irrevocably altered like that. I'd think the Rohirrim are a very musical people. After all, Aragorn does say in canon at some point that they are a people who rather sing songs of the old times rather than writing down the knowledge of their past. And let me just tell you that I immensely enjoy the idea of Éowyn teaching Faramir to dance a reel!

As usual, thanks for the comments!


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Letting Éomer go had never been easy, and it wasn't so this time either. Though he went with a promise and the knowledge that their hopes would soon be fulfilled, the sight of him riding away still made Lothíriel feel like she was doing wrong by allowing him to go. His absence was, as ever, something to make her feel like a part of herself was missing.

And after he had gone, time dragged. That was how Lothíriel felt, even though she was not exactly idle: there was much to be done before she could become the Queen of Rohan.

First, as a future wife of a king, she had to know the land that would become her new home country. In Dol Amroth there was only one book about Rohan, which she finished quickly enough. An inquiry sent to Minas Tirith revealed there were more some scrolls and books on Gondor's northern ally, even a moderately new genealogy of the House of Eorl, and Lothíriel would have travelled to the White City to read them. At that her father stepped in: he did not want her leaving home so soon after she had returned After pulling some strings he had the texts and books transported to Dol Amroth for her.

Erfréa had decided to stay in Dol Amroth until the next year, both to keep her friend company and also to educate the future queen in the culture of her new people. She told Lothíriel as much as she could about the Rohirric culture, so that the princess would know what exactly would be expected of her. Erfréa also helped the King's bride with Rohirric and they had most of their conversations in that language (which irritated Amrothos very much, as he had always hated it when he could not understand what others were speaking of). As Lothíriel's old schoolmaster could have said, it was important to keep up the language. Personally she took much pride in her improving Rohirric, as she wanted to be a queen people could love and feel as one of their own.

As a daughter of a prince Lothíriel had received a fine and large education. For one, she knew how to manage even a larger household. That would also be her duty once she and Éomer were married. In Dol Amroth, that duty had largely fallen to Aredhel, who as the wife of the future Prince of the city was the highest ranking woman in the city. After being married to Elphir for years now she knew already everything about running a royal household and she gave many useful pieces of advice to her sister-in-law. Aredhel was not as jumpy as she had been before little Alphros' birth, and Lothíriel knew she would miss the older woman's quiet calm and knowledge in years to come. Then again, she had heard how efficient was Léah, the housmistress of Meduseld, and knew she would be in good hands.

With her pregnancy Aredhel had began to flourish and shine. Even though she was very healthy this time, the loss of her first child had left her and Elphir with lingering fear. The prince became more and more of a mother hen as Aredhel's pregnancy proceeded. When the situation was like that, much of the princess' time was spent idle, as Elphir insisted she had lots of rest. Lothíriel would keep company to her sister-in-law as often as she managed. One sunny afternoon Aredhel told Lothíriel a secret the parents did not usually reveal: if the child would be a boy, they would name him Boromir to honour the late warrior, but if it would be a girl, the name would be Sídhadonnen.

"It is not just for the peace Sauron's defeat has brought about. It is also for us to always remember the miraculous day when you returned alive and well", Aredhel whispered. Lothíriel could not speak, but her tight hug hopefully delivered the depth of her emotion.

Letters came, just as Éomer had promised before he had left. He wrote of the rebuilding his lands, the happiness of his people when they heard the news of their king's betrothal, life in Edoras... He wrote of people Lothíriel knew and told little stories of ordinary life's comings and goings. The reparations of Helm's Deep were going rather well, he said, and Master Gimli was absolutely exhilarated at being able to free his Dwarven love for shaping stone and building fortresses. It was obvious Éomer was very busy, so him taking time to writing for her always touched the princess. Though no letter could ever be the same thing as his very presence near her, at least they provided a little of closeness and a bridge over the distance between them now.

But even if she was happy to be among her family and she was not exactly idle with all the preparations for when she'd leave for Rohan, the time of waiting was long... and perhaps it was because of that the nightmares came.

Sometimes it was that dream of old, the one where _he _lay dead, or the variations of it: she would ride to Edoras, dressed in her wedding gown, only to find Éomer and his people murdered on the floors of Meduseld. His blood would still be warm and feel the way it had when she had tended to all those men in Helm's Deep, and it stained her hands and white dress...

More often, it was a reflection of the time she had lost. She rarely remembered the nightmares afterwards – usually it was just the impression of being alone, cold and hurting in the dark, or being pursued by something she could not see. Endlessly she would wander in the shadows, her body aching with thirst and pain of her wounds, and she was so cold! But as much as she tried to conceal those nightly phantoms, she could not hide the shadows from under her eyes or deny the fact that she had woken up in the middle of a scream more than once.

Imrahil was, of course, half-mad with worry for his youngest child. He had Master Berianir inspect her, but like Lothíriel could have said herself, there was nothing physically wrong with her. It was just as anyone with common sense could have assumed. In her dreams, the darkness she had fallen into on the night Móna's had died still came back to haunt her.

"I would actually have been more surprised if it did not return in some form. Things like that... they rarely leave without a mark", the healer said with a quiet, serious voice.

"Is there anything you can do?" Imrahil asked, despair in his voice.

"There are certain potions that help one to sleep", Master Berianir said at length. "But there are no herbs or medicine to heal the wounds inflicted on mind or heart."

How wonderful! Just what she needed – an implication that she may be crazy! Lothíriel very much respected the elderly healer, but she did not really approve of his words.

Like she had expected, her father gazed worriedly at her and after Master Berianir had exited, he brought up the topic she had known to emerge.

"Perhaps it is not such a good idea for you to marry so soon", he said and frowned. "Perhaps you should wait until you are well."

"Father, are you not forgetting the obvious?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

"And what is that?" he inquired.

"That I was fine when Éomer was here! I had no nightmares with him around!" she exclaimed, grabbing the prince's hand. Imrahil frowned and didn't look too convinced.

"Lothíriel... I do not want you marrying if I cannot be sure that you are absolutely all right", he said slowly.

"I will be! I promise! Father... do not do this. I want to be able to carry on with my life. I want to live, not just wait!" she said, her voice becoming desperate now.

"Daughter, I am not doing this to pester you. I only want your best, and I want to be certain that you are fine", her father said quietly.

"I know that, Father. But my best is to be able to move on. Marry the man I love... Start a family. Help him in whatever storms he has to face", she said, and thinking of that made her restlessness rise even more. "Father, do you want me to end up like Aunt Finduilas? Do you want me to waste and wither until there's no life left in me? If you truly want me to be well, then you must let me go!"

Lothíriel could see the hurt she had inflicted right away: she had stabbed that old wound, the loss of his sister, that still remained in her father's heart. There was anguish in his eyes and a small sob escaped his lips, and she hated herself for bringing up such painful memories. What a self-centred brat she had been!

"I am sorry, Father! I didn't mean to say that – I wasn't thinking-" she apologized anxiously and quickly caught her father's hand in her own. He turned to look at her and she expected to see anger on his face, but instead, even if he looked sad, but his expression also held gentleness.

"No, my daughter. I don't want you to become like Finduilas", he said quietly and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. "I want to see you become happy, like you should be. It's just... Lothíriel, I am scared. I'm scared of letting you go."

"Oh, Father..." the Princess sobbed now too and hugged him tight. When she had been younger, she had always thought her father was never scared of anything... but hearing him confess it made him somehow more human, and all the more beloved.

"It's all right. I know I must let you fly and be free. And one day soon, I will. I promise you that. Just let me keep you a little while more", he whispered into her hair.

She couldn't really think of anything to say, anything at all that would have expressed her emotion and her love for her father, so she just held him tight and tried to hold back her tears.

"Dearest Lothíriel... If only you knew how much I love you! You and all of my children. It is not an easy thing to let a beloved child go... especially to live so far away from us", he said, suddenly sounding very weary and old, and Lothíriel felt even worse for her quick temper than she already did.

"I am sorry, Father", she said again, though that didn't really feel sufficient.

"Oh, Lothíriel... I know you love him, my daughter. I saw it in your eyes, and in his. And I know you are desperate to have him by your side. Just like I was desperate to have your mother with me... She would be so happy to see you having found someone who loves you so much", Imrahil said, his face bitter-sweet. "Even if he's hot-tempered, Éomer is a good man. I will be pleased to be able to call him son."

"Do you think Mother is watching us?" Lothíriel asked quietly.

"I like to think so, daughter", he answered. "And if you ask me, I'd say she'd be very proud of you."

"I love you, Father", she whispered and hugged him.

"I love you too, dear daughter. Never forget that."

* * *

With Master Berianir's potion, Lothíriel was able to sleep a bit better, but it was not the medicine to bring the true serenity for her and her dreams. She did not write Éomer of her nightmares – he would only worry for her, and he had enough concerns already as it was. She started to read his letters before going to sleep, which seemed to help a little and she could almost hear his voice speaking to her. Sometimes she would go back to their earlier correspondence, holding the faded parchment with gentle hands. The letters seemed to be from a thousand years ago, from a life entirely different. Gone was the boy who had written these letters.

Now he was king.

Aredhel's childbirth came on one sunny August afternoon. It was an easy delivery, and the small baby girl entered the world only few hours after the waters broke. Elphir, usually so serious and unsmiling, beamed proudly, and Aredhel herself was blissful with finally having a daughter of her own. Little Sídhadonnen was so very small and light when Lothíriel got the chance to hold the infant. Soft dark hair already grew on the baby's head, announcing the child's heritage of a family with Númenorean blood.

As Lothíriel watched her little niece, she suddenly thought of those dark-eyed children that had plagued her dreams when she had still been engaged to Théodred. She wondered how it would feel – to bear her beloved's children under her heart, to hold them like she now held Sídhadonnen. They would be strong, just like their father.

"I will miss you when you are gone", Aredhel said quietly one day, not long after Sídhadonnen's birth. The younger woman straightened on her seat where she had been daydreaming, and leant towards her sister-in-law.

"I will miss you too, Aredhel. Do not look so sad – with the Dimholt road safe again, one can get to Edoras in no time. You can come visit me whenever you want, and bring little Sídhadonnen with you. Then I can tell her of Master Elrond and Imladris, and we will go riding every day", the princess said, patting the other woman's arm.

"I envy you, Lothíriel, having seen Rivendell and the legendary son of Eärendil", Aredhel sighed. "I would so much like to see Imladris."

"I do not think the house is going to leave with Master Elrond. Glorfindel at least is going to stay for a bit more, and some of the elves may still linger there for a while after him, so perhaps we could visit there some day. Although I imagine it would not probably be the same without him there", she mused.

"The age of grand tales is over. It ends with his leaving", Aredhel said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps there will not be anymore dragons and magic rings or wizards riding with wise counsel, but there are other stories to be lived and told", Lothíriel answered; she was quite done with adventures already. "Lighter stories... with less sorrow and losses."

"You are right, Lothíriel", Aredhel smiled. The younger woman sat silent for a moment, lost in her memories of her time in Rohan.

"You would have liked Móna. Sometimes she reminded me of you", the princess said quietly. It was hard to believe it was well over year since Móna's death. There were still times when Lothíriel could almost believe that one day now Móna would just return, same as she had been before Théodred's death.

"I am sorry to have never met her. Your friends from the Mark seem very nice, especially young Erfréa", Aredhel said with a soft smile.

"She's just that way – it is impossible not to love her", Lothíriel said and grinned at the thought of her Rohirric friend. "I'm glad she's going to be there too, when I go to live with Éomer. She's a good friend."

"And it's good to know that you'll be surrounded by people you love", Aredhel said. Gently, Lothíriel patted her sister-in-law's hand, and that was the first moment she realised just how hard it would be to tell goodbye to her family, no matter how much she loved her King.

Dol Amroth was the place she had been born and grown up in. On her earlier travels to Rohan or even Minas Tirith she had always left with the certainty that she would come back, but when she would leave for Edoras in spring, it would be the end of her life in Dol Amroth. Of course she would visit as often as she could, but it would not be the same thing. She would miss her old home and her family, of course, but she knew she could not stay here forever, not unless she married some lord from around Dol Amroth. But that had never been a real alternative, not in her own mind at least. Even years back, way before her fateful trip to Rohan, she had not been able to imagine a life with any Gondorian lord.

When she had imagined her future, she had seen _him, _though it would have been a lie to say she had known what it meant.

As the autumn turned into winter, the princess found herself wandering in the familiar city of her childhood, trying to memorize everything of it. She would run her fingers over the surfaces: the stone, the sand, the wood of the ships, the gentle waves caressing the shore... She knew where her true home was, but Dol Amroth would always have its place in her heart.

With winter, they also began to prepare new gowns and even riding clothes for her life as a Queen (they did not show the breeches and blouses meant for riding to Aunt Ivriniel, though). Many an afternoon was indeed spent in the middle of taking measures and fittings. Aredhel thought Lothíriel needed to dress regally, but the princess herself refused to have too lavish gowns.

"I do not want to appear snobbish. Just some simple blue dresses – maybe something red and purple, too. But that's it. I don't want extravagance", Lothíriel informed the seamstresses, though she had a feeling her sister-in-law would give the women her own instructions later on. Aredhel did succeed in persuading Lothíriel to have at least couple of finer gowns for special occasions.

"I will not have you running around in a sackcloth, sister. You'll be the Queen, not a shepherd's wife", said the older woman firmly and turned her attention back to the beautiful materials laid in the front of them. "Blue and silver should be perfect – you look so good in Dol Amroth's colours, so you should take advantage of that. Pity that the green does not work so well for you."

"Pity indeed", Lothíriel sighed and stretched her arms in boredom as one of the seamstresses took her measures. She had never particularly liked this part of sewing new clothes, but hopefully this way she could secure she wouldn't have need for new gowns in a long time.

There were other things to considered, too. It was not that the departure was already near, but Aredhel had been unrelenting on the matter: Lothíriel needed to carefully think of what she would take with her as she would ride to Rohan.

Books would come, of course. Lothíriel already had plans for extending the King's library, and she had thought about hiring a scribe to copy some of the books here in Dol Amroth. She also wanted some of her favourite books near her; Lothíriel had grown up with almost always having at least one volume by her bedside, and old habits died hard. Then there were her healing supplies, although she doubted she'd have much time for pursuing that line of work. However, being without healer's tools always made her feel like something essential was missing. Hopefully there would not be any more nights as that one back in Hornburg, but one could never know for sure and she preferred to be prepared.

When added her other personal things, there would be quite a caravan to bring all her possessions to Edoras. Lothíriel tried to be as sparse as she could in her choices, however. She was sure that whatever she'd need would be found in Edoras.

The year started to near its end and preparations for Yuletide were made. Melancholy threatened to take over the princess as she realised this would probably be the last Yule she would spend with her family. Lovingly she prepared gifts for them, wanting them all to always remember this last time they were all together, and no matter how wistful she threatened to become, Lothíriel tried to keep up a smiling face. She did not want to spoil the feast for others by acting morose. In the end, the most effective way seemed to be not to think of anything but just try and enjoy the celebration of light, love and the coming of new year.

Even in her bitter-sweet state of mind, Lothíriel could not help but think of _him. _Up north in Edoras, he too was probably seeing over the preparations. Wreaths were made, Meduseld was cleaned from floors to the ceiling, the hall was decorated, sweets and foods were prepared... on the Yule night there would be great feast of music and dancing. It was hard to understand it was two years now since that fateful Yule night when they had made the Promise.

And next spring, that Promise would finally be fulfilled.

The celebrations of Yuletide were calm yet joyous. On the Yule morning they had a short riding trip on the seaside and Lothíriel let her Sunrise gallop for the mare's heart's content (Amrothos was disappointed but not surprised to lose the riding contest), enjoying herself too from the speed and wind on her face. Her father seemed a bit disapproving when she slowed Sunrise down to ride by his side.

"Already becoming a woman or Rohan, aren't you?" the Prince said, however, even managing to summon a smile on his face.

"Soon I will be training for sword fights", she grinned at her father.

"My poor daughter! Will I even know you when we meet again?" he bemoaned and shook his head. Lothíriel laughed at that and urged Sunrise forward.

After their ride, everyone went to wash up and change for the evening. Presents were exchanged (Lothíriel received some books she had been dying to get, elegantly decorated saddle and reins for Sunrise, some jewellery fit for a Queen of Rohan and a beautiful white gown, embroidered with blue and gold). After that, the family sat down to enjoy an extensive supper.

Lothíriel gazed quietly at the faces of her family. Father's strong, lined face that could so quickly turn into a smile, Aunt Ivriniel's more dignified appearance, Elphir's solemn countenance that would soften whenever he looked over to his wife or son Alphros, the more easygoing Erchirion and Amrothos bickering jovially and their laughter filling the room, gentle Aredhel who watched over the men with warm eyes, little Alphros who had inherited his father's seriousness... And there was Erfréa, not related by blood to the royal house of Dol Amroth yet somehow blending in as if she were one of them... The princess was going to remember this, no matter how long she lived.

"You are very quiet, Lothíriel. Is something wrong?" Amrothos asked quietly after a while, as the others were discussing Elphir's upcoming trip to Minas Tirith. The princess smiled softly at her brother.

"I just... This is the last Yule I will spend here. I am just trying to memorize everything", she said softly.

"It will be so odd with you gone", he said, and for a moment usually so cheerful Amrothos seemed to be feeling bittersweet. Then he grinned. "Who am I going to tease when you are gone?"

"You always have Erchirion to drive mad", she said dryly, and they both smiled. Lothïriel briefly touched his hand, "You must come to Edoras often. I am sure the young Rohir girls would be very excited to meet you!"

That made her brother grin mischievously; the princess immediately made a mental note of having to watch him very closely once they'd travel North.

"Maybe I will even find a fair Shieldmaiden of my own, just like cousin Faramir!" he laughed.

"I daresay a Shieldmaiden would suit you very well", Lothíriel smiled.

"If they are even half as spirited as Erfréa, I wonder if even I will be able to keep up with them", he said and sipped his wine.

The evening was spent in warm conversation, laughter and companionship. From her father's bitter-sweet expression Lothíeriel knew she was not the only one trying to savour every single moment of this precious night. She gave him an encouraging smile, which he answered quietly.

After a while Lothíriel went to quickly enjoy some cool night air on a beautiful terrace overlooking the lush gardens of the palace. She briefly thought of the unkempt garden back at Meduseld, wondering to herself if improvements could be made there and if she could bring bit of Dol Amroth to her new home... but then, the climate in north was unlikely to favour the southern greenery, and she'd have to consult with the locals to find out what would prosper there the best. Maybe she'd even be able to find someone who had seen the garden as it had been when Théoden King's wife Elfhild had lived. Her thoughts were interrupted when her father joined her, placing his strong, steady hand on her shoulder. Silence hung between them for a while, neither of them knowing how to put in words what they were feeling.

In the end, nothing really needed to be said. Imrahil just took her in his arms, embracing her tightly.

"My sweet, beloved daughter... a woman grown and ready for marriage already!" he said, his voice almost breaking.

"It is fine, Father", Lothíriel whispered. "I will be all right."

"I know. I hope Rohan understands the gift she gets in you", Imrahil said softly, managing to form a small smile. "Swift wind under your wings, daughter, and a light on your brow. Fly high and proud!"

* * *

**A/N: **I return with a surprise update! Turned out I had some freetime and I could get this chapter done and ready for posting. I know it's a slow one with little to no Éomer, and I did try to merge it with the next one... but I ended up with the wordcount of well over 9000 and I simply had no idea of how to start cutting stuff. Furthermore, I feel that in this albeit slow chapter happens a lot of necessary saying goodbye and letting go. It is almost a year that goes by, so eventually I decided that a feeling of impatient waiting was needed. However, I can promise that the next chapter will most like have something you people have waited for a while...

In case you're wondering wher Glorfindel is at this point, he left for Rivendell some point in August, but we'll be seeing him once more in a chapter or two.

As usual, thanks for the reviews and also thanks for reading!


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

The message came one bright morning of early March as Lothíriel sat enjoying breakfast with her family. It was brought to her by one of the servants while she was joking with Amrothos about something childish as only two of them could, but when she read the message, her playful mood was replaced by confusion. It read:

_My beloved Princess -_

_Meet me tonight on the beach. I will be waiting for you after midnight and will leave a lantern so you will find me. This is most urgent._

_I beg of you: come. _

_Your most devoted friend. _

She turned at the servant who had brought the message.

"Where did this come from?" she asked, trying not to sound too flabbergasted.

"I do not know. It was given to me by one of the guards, who said a man in a green cloak gave it to him", the servant said and shrugged.

"Oh", was the only thing Lothíriel could answer. A man in a green cloak... As far as she knew, green cloaks meant Rohirrim. What could it mean? Was Éomer secretly in the city and playing some sort of amorous game with her? That didn't seem too disagreeable to her...

Apparently her face had become strange, for Amrothos peered at her curiously.

"What is it, sister?" he asked.

"Nothing", she said quickly.

"Really? If it's nothing, then why don't you tell me?" he pointed out and tried to grab at the message in her hand. The princess was faster than her brother and hid it behind her back.

"No! You can't read it!" she exclaimed, but Amrothos was still trying to reach the note.

"Are you two children? Stop at once!" Erchirion scolded, which effectively ended their tussling. Both of them stared at their older brother, and then Amrothos grinned.

"I could swear you just sounded just like Aunt Ivriniel, brother", he said, already forgetting about Lothíriel's message. He looked at her, "Don't you agree with me? Didn't he sound like Aunt to you?"

The princess answered her brother's grin.

"He certainly did", she agreed, which made Erchirion roll his eyes.

"Sometimes I could swear you two never matured past the age of five", he grumbled in frustration.

"You want us to braid your hair for you, Erchiriel?" Amrothos asked amiably. "I'm sure our sister has some ribbons for your lovely locks you'd like very much."

That quickly caused a noisy argument between the two brothers, and Lothíriel took the opportunity to sneak away while Elphir tried to get the two stop, but it didn't seem to go so well as the little Alphros seemed to think whole thing very funny and decided to join the fun... smiling to herself, the princess left the dining room and briefly thought she'd miss these scenes.

* * *

It was almost midnight when she finally slipped out of her bedroom that night. She had retreated to her chamber early enough, but then Aredhel had come to sit with her for a while and then her maids had come, helping her into her nightgown. But finally her sister-in-law had left and the palace had started to quiet down, and she had slipped on a plain, warm gown that would keep away the chill of spring night. Though she didn't think she would be in any danger she still took her Rohirric blade with her, just to be sure (she had been astonished that the dagger Éomer had given her so long ago had actually been found and delivered to her family). One did not wander in wilderness like she had and survive without certain sense of paranoia.

Another thing she took with her was Erfréa, if only for consolation. Earlier that day, she had showed the note to her friend and the girl had agreed it could only be from the King of Rohan. However, when Lothíriel had said she'd go, the younger woman had asked to come along just to be sure. And the princess had readily agreed.

From the palace, steep and narrow flight of stairs led down to the beach. It was something of a secret passage, as you wouldn't have noticed the entrance if you didn't know of its existence. Usually, when Lothíriel went down to the beach, she'd use this way. For one, it was quicker and more private. That was the way she went this time too, her heart beating excitedly. She was already thinking of romantic little rendezvouses in the dark – something she had not had ever since Rohan.

The night was clear and the sky almost cloudless. There was bit of a chill in the air, but her excitement kept her warm as she quickly strode on the beach, arms linked with Erfréa. Her friend quickly spotted the small lantern in the night: it had been placed on one large stone less than half a league from the palace. At the sight of the golden light, the princess smiled to herself. Only an outlander – like a Rohir – would do something like that _here, _for the people who lived by the sea would have linked such night lights to smugglers... even if smugglers were usually smart enough not to announce their presence with lanterns.

"It would be just like him to ride here without telling no one. Maybe he got tired of all the waiting? That wouldn't surprise me too much. Our King is crazy about you, after all", said her friend as they made their way forward.

Lothíriel could only smile at that, and her heart fluttered, as it always did at the prospect of seeing her beloved Éomer.

Finally, they reached the large rock where the lantern stood. Behind it a merry fire was blazing in the secure shelter between the cliffs, and two trunks of driftwood were placed there as seats. However, they could see no one there, and the two women shared a look of confusion as they scanned the area. Wasn't the green-cloaked horselord supposed to be waiting here for the princess?

"My lady", called an all too familiar voice from behind them, and with a shout of shock, Lothíriel and Erfréa jumped around.

From the way they had come appeared a shadow of a wild, haggard man. He was tall as Lothíriel remembered, but his formal Knight's attire had been replaced with clothing one could have called rags if one was mean-spirited. The southern sun had roasted his skin so that it was leathery brown and weather-beaten. His hair had grown long and tangled and his beard, once so neatly looked after, resembled something like a bush. And though he wore an eye-patch over the place where his right eye would have been, she could still see the ugly scar-tissue from under it. In short, he looked like a bandit from a fairy tale.

"You!" Lothíriel screeched and instantly grabbed for her blade, though it wouldn't have been much of a defence against the sword hanging from his left hip. Her friend moved fast as well, picking up stones from the sand – no doubt inspired by captain Éothain.

But as soon as the two women had armed themselves, captain Aradhain dropped on one knee and offered the hilt of his sword to them. When he did that, Lothíriel could see that his left arm was gone, and all that was left was a stump that was hidden inside an empty sleeve of his tunic. She also took note of scar tissue at his neck – it looked like a cut or something, and the rest of it disappeared under his tunic.

"Here is my sword, and my life. I beg for your mercy and your patience. If you deem me unworthy of them, then cut off my head. But if you'd have pity for a man who once fought for your father, then I'd ask for a permission to speak", he spoke, sounding almost like his old self... but what was his old self? The monster she had seen on the plains? Or the man her father had trusted with her life? Perhaps this was some plot and she should run home as fast as she could, raise the guards and have them hunt this man down for good...

The princess exchanged a confused glance with her friend. Erfréa looked just as stupefied, and she shrugged as if to say she had just as little idea as her friend did about what was happening here.

Aradhain remained unmoving. He supported his sword on his knee and was still offering the hilt towards the two women, his head bowed down as if in an invitation to take the weapon to his neck. Maybe the man was mad. He had to be, for coming here after all that had happened. Though that didn't make Lothíriel herself much better. She should have known better than to follow obscure notes.

After standing frozen in confusion, Lothíriel was finally able to move. She gave her own blade to Erfréa, and she took a quick step towards the man and grabbed his sword in her hands. It was heavy and she knew she wasn't much of a sword-fighter, but she didn't really have to be. She knew very well which end she should stick into him should he try anything.

"You tricked me! You liar!" she exclaimed as she realised it had all been just ruse to get her here. At that, he lifted his head and he winced.

"I know, and for that I am sorry. But it was the only way I could think of reaching you, my lady. I didn't think you'd come otherwise", Aradhain said. He actually sounded _ashamed. _

"What do you want of Lothig?" Erfréa asked, sounding like she might bury the blade between the man's ribs any moment now.

"I'll explain everything, but may I first ask you to sit down, my ladies?" he inquired softly.

"What for?" asked the princess back brusquely. A sad little smile seemed to appear on the ex-captain's face, but it was hard to tell with his bushy beard.

"I'd like to speak with you, Princess. And I would like to apologize properly", he said. He glanced at the Rohir woman, "Alone, if that would suit you."

Erfréa looked like she could just barely hold back her anger.

"I don't care what you want, you villain. I'm not going to leave her alone with _you!" _she said sharply.

As for her friend, Lothíriel was too busy staring at the man in ever growing confusion. This was getting more and more bizarre by the second. Captain Aradhain, here of all places, wanting to tell her he was sorry?

"Fine. If that consoles the both of you, Lady Erfréa. Just... let me say what I wish to say, and then I will leave you in peace. Please", he said and the look of desperation did look rather convincing... but then, he had been a very good pretender before. He probably guessed what Lothíriel was thinking, for he smiled, "You two are the ones with swords, my lady. It is your call."

"Why should I listen to anything _you _have to say?" she asked, not even trying to conceal the hostile tone from her voice.

"Possibly you shouldn't. I don't know. You owe me nothing. But... if you'd like to end this... find some closure, then perhaps..." he said quietly and looked away, but then he gestured at the trunk of wood by the fire. "What do you have to fear from a one-armed man with no sword? You beat me once. Do you think you can't do it again?"

Well, that much was true. If this turned out bad, she and Erfréa were armed, and they could run... Lothíriel was fairly certain the two of them were better runners than him.

"You can't mean to listen to him! We should get back to the palace and alarm the guards", said her friend in Rohirric.

"I know that, my friend. We'll be able to do that later, if need be. But... I'd like to hear what he has to say. He does seem honest this time", Lothíriel said at length.

"We shouldn't trust him", Erfréa argued. "Don't you remember what he did to you?"

"I haven't forgotten", Lothíriel answered sharply. Turning gentler, she touched Erfréa's shoulder. "But I _want _to forget. Perhaps this is what I need to do that. If he tries anything, you have my permission to do whatever you deem necessary."

"Fine. But don't you even think I'm going to leave you alone with him", said the younger woman hotly. "And if he makes one wrong move, I'm going to gut him."

As if in unison, they made sure they never turned their back at the man as they went and sat down by the fire. Aradhain watched the princess quietly as she did so, and when she sat down, he looked immensely happy, as if she had just returned his arm to him or something like that. Then he took seat opposite the two of them. Lothíriel made sure the sword was next to her, the hilt ready for her hand just to be safe.

"Well? What do you want?" Erfréa asked finally, and the princess was quietly thankful for that. Aradhain's staring had already started to become very uncomfortable. He briefly glanced at the Rohir woman, and then back to the princess.

"I'd like to tell you that I am very, very sorry for what I did to you", he said quietly. As soon as the words were out, he lowered his gaze. Quickly Lothíriel understood it was because he was too ashamed to meet her eyes.

"You're sorry? Oh, how nice. Does that take back what happened to me? Will it give back the year I lost? Will it heal and take away all the pain my family and my betrothed had to suffer?" the princess asked sharply.

"It won't", Aradhain said sorrowfully, staring into the flames now. "Of course it won't. I know that much. I didn't come here because I thought you'd forgive me. But I hope you one day will. Because... you deserve to move on. You're not made for hate."

"That all sounds very nice, but how are we supposed to believe that you genuinely mean any of that?" Erfréa asked, clutching the Rohirric blade in her hand as if she was preparing for a strike any moment now.

"Because I didn't fight my way from death just so that I could come back here and lie to the Princess", he said softly and looked at her again. There was torment in his eyes, some shadow that had not yet passed, and Lothíriel found it hard to believe that even _he _could be such a good liar as to fake that. Perhaps it was because she had seen the shadows herself, and what she saw there in his eyes reminded her of it.

She shared another glance with her friend, who shrugged with similarly troubled expression on her face. Lothíriel turned to look at the fallen captain again.

"Then tell me why you did... what you tried to do. Give me one good reason why you kept me in fear and haunted my steps when you ought to have protected me?" she asked, her voice growing harsh again. She expected excuses and explanations, but to her surprise, she got none.

"I can't answer that. I can't tell what made me so dark that I'd torment you like I did... like a part of me still tells me to", he said heavily and his words made her flinch and Erfréa nearly jumped up, but he lifted his hand calmingly. "Have no fear, my ladies. It is only a part, and one that I can control now. You have nothing to fear from me anymore. I just try to be honest, like I was told to be."

"Told by whom?" asked the younger woman, narrowing her eyes and still looking like she was solemnly contemplating taking his life. Aradhain smiled again, but now there was something fond about his face.

"After the King of Rohan very nearly ended my existence, I knew my time in these lands had come to an end. So I travelled far, south and then east, hoping to find a place where the princes and kings of the West would never find me. Deep to the east I went, until one hot and stifling day I came across some bandits. Six men against one... you can probably guess what happened. They left me with little else than my life, and I stumbled deeper into the wild", he began his story, sighing deep as if remembering that time brought him pain.

"After some time, I fell under a stunted tree to rest. There I sat, wondering what I should do and how I might even survive in those unforgiving lands with no supplies or even a weapon to defend myself... and then the animal appeared. You have heard of lions, haven't you, my ladies? Yes, a lion came to me, golden and brown and deadly, and I don't suppose I need to tell you what took place then. I had no way of defending myself, after all. So there I was, my left arm already between its teeth, when riding tribesmen of Harad came... I never forget that one look into the lion's golden eyes, how it seemed to be pondering whether my life was worth it... then it let go, vanishing as fast as it had appeared in the first place... Sometimes, I wonder whether it was a real animal at all", Aradhain spoke quietly. There was something mesmerising about his voice as he spoke of the great cat he had encountered, so that Lothíriel almost forgot who she was talking with.

He sighed then and looked at the princess again.

"I was unconscious when they took me to the old blue man", he continued, "and he saved me from the darkness – well, most of me, at least. My left arm was more ribbons than anything by then. The blue man... he must have seen what I was from the moment he lay his eyes on me, and why he gave me my life back, I cannot tell. But by bringing me back... he also showed me the darkness inside myself. I looked at the shadow in myself, and I trembled."

"Who was this blue man?" Erfréa asked, sounding similarly taken with the story. Well, if anything, the ex-captain was at least a very good story-teller.

"He never told me his name. He did not appear to be one of the Haradrim either. I do not know who he was and where he went after he had given my life back to me and nursed me into health. One thing he told me: that the shadow can be overcome, and that I had many to conquer, but none were more pressing than one particular", Aradhain said and smiled at that. "Which, I knew instantly, was one that had fallen between myself and you, my lady."

Lothíriel stared at the man mutely, completely loss at words. Erfréa, however, wasn't as speechless.

"That is a wondrous tale and everything, but I still don't see why we should believe anything you say. So you met some great cat in south and we're supposed to think that changed you?" she snapped, shifting anxiously where she sat.

"Like I said, I didn't fight the shadow of death just to come here to lie to you", Aradhain said quietly. "But I do understand your unwillingness to believe me. But do you really think I'd cut off my own arm and come up with some strange tale just to apologise?"

He sighed and seemed to sink in size, become smaller somehow.

"I do not expect your forgiveness, my Princess. But when I go along on my way, I'd rather like to take that shadow with me than leave it with you, so that you can continue your life free of me... be happy with your King. In fact, I understand that congratulations are in order", Aradhain continued, bowing his head momentarily. "I finally see that it is a good place for you to be. And you will make a fine queen."

"I... oh, thank you, I suppose", Lothíriel said, feeling more than just a little stupefied.

"You're welcome. I must say, I wouldn't mind too much if I could be there and see you happily wedded... offer my apologies for your husband-to-be, too. I suppose he has more than earned the opportunity to finish what he started in Pelargir..." Aradhain said, half to himself.

"Well... I could take you back to the palace... I'm sure my Father will listen to me if I tell him that you've changed..." she mumbled despite herself, and Erfréa gave her a furious look for such suggestion. She wasn't sure why she'd offer something like that – maybe she just needed to believe that people, even people like him, could change.

However, her offer made him chuckle.

"Don't bother, my Princess. Even if your friend here didn't find a way to take her revenge on me before we even got to the palace, I know your father and your brothers. They love you fiercely... so fiercely, that if they saw this wretched face, they'd doubtlessly try and rip me into pieces with their bare hands. And if they by some miracle did not do that, I imagine that the certain horselord from North would come riding with the Muster of Rohan, tie me behind his horse and drag me up and down some mountainside. Captain Aradhain has no honour in this city and I'd rather his memory pass into shadow and oblivion, where he belongs", he said softly, feeding some wood to the fire.

"And what Lothig's brothers or Éomer King would do to you is something you'd very well deserve", Erfréa said coldly.

"Your words are not untrue", said the man quietly, again lowering his eyes in shame. "And I know it does not mean much, but I mourned you when we thought you dead. I... I never wanted that. If things had gone otherwise, I'd have kept you safe, I swear."

The Rohir woman snorted at that, and she grumbled: "It didn't prevent you from lying to the King of the Mark, though. You knew she wasn't dead when she escaped from you, yet you told everyone that Lothig had lost her life."

"Aye", Aradhain agreed heavily. "I did lie, and I'm not going to deny it. I'm not a good man."

"Hmph. Finally something we can agree about", Erfréa muttered to herself. She glanced at the princess, "I say we kill him and toss him into the sea. Men like him don't change."

"If that is what you wish", he said quietly. "If that is what you need to have your peace of mind."

At that Lothíriel realised that no, her peace of mind did not depend on this man dying. No matter how much she tried to look, she didn't see the monster that had haunted her. No – all she saw was just a broken man who had somehow seen the darkness in himself, and now wanted to be rid of it. But what was the right way about this? Call the guards or let him go?

"What would you do, then? Where would you go, if we agreed to part ways here and I don't call my father's men after you?" Lothíriel asked; her friend cast another displeased look at her, no doubt wondering how she could even entertain that idea.

"If you'd let me go, I swear our paths would not cross again", he promised, as if he had guessed her thoughts. "I've often dreamed of seeing the lands west of Rohan... Eriador, Harlindon, the fabled Tower Hills and beyond, the ruins of the old kingdom of Arnor... There is much to be seen, and much to do – even for a broken man such as myself. Perhaps even redemption."

Something like hope seemed to flash in his eyes at that, and for the first time, Lothíriel could feel the hatred and fear she had had for this man falter. Instead, her heart filled an emotion like... well, perhaps it was best called pity.

"I wish all the very best for you, my lady, and I wish that you will not have to suffer the likes of me anymore. Then again, you should be safe with your King. I exchanged some blows with that betrothed of ours and I am a fortunate fellow for surviving _that _encounter. His reputation does not come from nothing", Aradhain said, gazing at the princess as if he were trying to memorise everything about her face. Perhaps he was.

"I... I thank you, Aradhain. I hope you'll find your own path too. And your redemption", the princess said as gently as she could. Erfréa's eyes widened with angry surprise.

"You can't possibly mean to let him go! This man needs to suffer for what he did!" she argued and looked like she was about to jump up and act as the executioner herself, but Lothíriel placed a hand on her friend's arm.

"I think he already has, Erfréa", she said softly. Changing to Rohirric, she continued, "Look at him, my friend. He's not the danger he used to be anymore. I'm not saying it's all right what he did, but... I think he has already been dealt with his punishment."

Her friend fell back, eyes turning calmer.

"Well, if that is what you think", she said at length. "After all, you're the one he assaulted."

Aradhain seemed to sense that an agreement of sorts had been reached, and he relaxed on his seat. He smiled, "Thank you, my ladies. I did not expect such mercy, but I am very thankful."

Suddenly, his eyes became doubtful.

"My lady Princess, may I ask something of you? Only one thing, and then I will beg no more?" he inquired, and there was something about his voice that almost reminded her of a young boy.

"You can ask", Lothíriel said cautiously.

"Could I perhaps... could I hold your hand and kiss it? Just this once? I promise I will not ask for anything more. And if you'd grant me that, I'd... I'd be a very happy man", he pleaded and looked somehow very scared. At first, Lothíriel thought about telling him no, but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out.

And she looked at him, this poor pitiful man who had been so much and was now so little (or perhaps it was the other way around)... it was a small sacrifice for her but it would mean a world for him. Silently, she offered him her hand, and with a sob he fell on his knees on the front of her; he took it gently into his own and pressed it against his face. He pressed several desperate kisses on her palm and her fingers, all the while shaking with soundless weeping. He held on to her hand so long that she began to feel very uncomfortable and her grip around the hilt of his sword became tighter. A part of her would have liked nothing better than to strike him as he crouched there on the front of her, and Erfréa's pale and vaguely disgusted face implied she was fighting a similar urge as well. But then the princess looked at him and felt pity wash over herself all over again. So she sat silent and let him have this moment.

Finally, he let go of her hand and stumbled clumsily on his feet. There were tears on his good cheek, but his expression was that of bliss.

"Thank you, my lady. Thank you. I will take my leave, I will go west, and you will never have to see me again. But I will remember you, your goodness, and I will tell everyone of the brave and kind Queen of Rohan. For your sake, I will become more than I am, more than just a shadow and a man without honour. I will find my redemption because of you. _For _you. Thank you, my dear Princess", he spoke ardently, almost like someone who was in the middle of some wondrous revelation. There was such a light in his eye, and mutely she offered his sword to him. He smiled – a widest smile yet – sheathed his word and bowed deep on the front of her. Then he turned and began walking by the seashore, away from Dol Amroth, his head held up high once more... towards whatever fate the world had in store for him.

Lothíriel and Erfréa sat staring after him for some time until she could see his shadow no more, and after a while they too left the place. They never spoke of what had just occurred as they walked back to the palace.

Curiously enough, like Aradhain had offered, Lothíriel did feel something of a closure as she walked back home that night.

* * *

**A/N: **And so our rogue captain has exited the stage. I must say, this resolution was not an easy one for me. I knew everyone wanted to see him get a proper beating and judgement, and I even tried to write that. But somehow it didn't seem to work for me. And I began to think: what would be Lothíriel's reaction to meeting him again? The more I thought of it, the more I realised she'd just want to forget the episode with him. I don't think this version of Lothíriel is someone with a violent or unforgiving character. Like she realises in this chapter, her peace of mind does not depend on him dying.

Though Aradhain walks free, I don't mean to say his actions were fine. And though we didn't get to see his confrontation with the bandits and the lion, I think he had his punishment there and I have a feeling more may have happened than he reveals. He is - or was - a twisted man, yes... but I also always felt he has two sides to him. And as we have seen shows of the darker side, there has been in my opinion those moments as well when the lighter side has appeared - like when he tried to comfort her when she was engaged to marry Théodred, or when he showed regret during his conversation with Éomer in Minas Tirith. So, in the end, this resolution seemed to work for me better than any other. And I did say "Marshal's Wife" (where he is dealt with by Éowyn and later Aragorn) goes to places where this piece doesn't, didn't I?

That doesn't mean people would agree with Lothíriel's decision to let Aradhain go his way though, and I don't think she really understands that here.

As for who was the blue man? That, my dear readers, I leave for you to figure out...

Thanks for reading and for your comments!


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

_March 3021, Edoras_

It was some time after midnight that Éomer finally gave up his attempt of trying to sleep. He had been tossing and turning for a while now, and all the while his mind had raced endlessly. Many of the things on his mind were the matters of the realm, but a fair amount also consisted of his bride, and the fact that he was missing her to the point of hurting.

Months had gone by since he had last seen her, and though letters were exchanged often, he knew that true peace and rest would only come to him when she'd finally be by his side. And though he knew she was well and safe in the palace of his father, these mad little moments still came every now and then; he'd remember the time she had been lost, and a crazy impulse told him to race to Dol Amroth to see if she really was hale and happy. At least so far, his captain and his Marshals had been able to talk him out of it when that little voice had started to natter and paint pictures of horror in his mind.

However, he did not know how much more of this he could take. And in his heart, he knew he would not survive losing her again.

Putting on some clothes, he decided he'd try to catch some sleep later and ventured out. Suddenly, he longed for some fresh air, and so he made his way to outside.

During last few months, Meduseld and Edoras had been getting ready for an occasion that had not been seen in decades. A royal wedding was nearing with each passing day, and soon a queen would once again stand by the side of the king. Not only the Golden Hall had gone through massive cleaning, but also the other royal estates. Even the stables had been cleaned, and apparently many long lost things had been found from all places likely and unlikely.

The royal chambers had been prepared as well. Éomer had gone as far as ordering some hangings with his princess' colours on them, and he had obtained some furniture she'd hopefully appreciate. For one, a proper dressing table was waiting for her things as was a large chest that matched his own. As far as the young king himself was concerned, everything was ready for her to arrive. But of course Léah wouldn't agree with that. The chatelaine had lectured him about all the things that yet needed to be done. He didn't actually remember half of the things she had said, but he did recall it had been quite a list.

The night was clear and the sky was unclouded, and the silver light of moon almost made it bright in a way. Wrapping his cloak tighter about himself, Éomer stopped to regard his lands and enjoy the brisk breath of air. Edoras was in calm slumber: all was well in the kingdom of the Mark.

When Éothain trudged to the young king's side, Éomer could see that his friend was being similarly sleepless these nights. It was a rare thing that could disturb his rest and so, the King wondered what this was about.

"What are you doing out of bed at this time?" he asked.

"Same as you, I suppose", said the captain, staring out to the plains. Éomer thought he could catch a whiff of ale from his friend's breath, which surprised him. Though Éothain had certainly had his encounters with drinking horns, those times had grown ever sparser after Éomer had become the King.

"I didn't know the matters of realm kept you up at nights too or that you stay up thinking of my bride. Should I be worried of competition?" he tried to joke, but this time Éothain didn't join the jest. He took a closer look at his captain, "What is it, old fellow?"

"Just... I miss her", Éothain mumbled and looked thoroughly miserable. Confused at first, Éomer looked at him, but then it hit him. _Of course. _

"It's only couple of months now. She'll come home with Lothíriel", he offered. After all the times Éothain had been there to reassure him, it felt only natural that he'd return the courtesy.

"I know. Béma, the moment I'll see her, I think I might just kiss her right there and then", said the captain and sighed.

Well, this was certainly an interesting development. Éomer had never known his second in command to have any tendencies for love-sickness.

"You may want to reconsider that, if Erkenbrand is present", he said in an attempt to cheer the older man. "Seriously speaking, I wouldn't have thought it'd be her. And she's much younger than you are."

"Are you calling me old, Éomer?" Éothain asked, lifting his eyebrows – finally there was some amusement in his eyes. "I may be, but I can still take you down. To be honest, I don't even care about how old she is. I just know it's her."

"Hmm. I suppose it does make sense, when one thinks of it", Éomer answered at length. He grinned, "If anything, I think the two of you are going to have a noisy life together. Erfréa has kind of a piercing voice sometimes."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my friend. She doesn't even know that I... well, you know", Éothain said and his face turned miserable again.

"Then why haven't you told her yet?" asked the King.

"But what if she laughs at me? Not that I dislike her laugh – it's glorious when she does laugh, have you heard her? But you did say I'm old. Maybe she thinks so too", Éothain babbled on in something like panic.

"Éothain, I'm sure she would never laugh at you. Nor would she think you old. Lothíriel doesn't think me old either, and our age gap isn't that much smaller than your and Erfréa's", Éomer reassured his friend. But then he frowned too. "Does she think me old, though? Has she said anything to you?"

He didn't get to hear an answer to that, for Marshal Elfhelm chose that moment to arrive to the scene.

"I heard you talking here outside, and I swear, I was convinced I was listening to two lads younger than twenty summers", he said, shaking his head in vaguely amused frustration. "Go to your beds, the two of you. If your lady loves didn't laugh at you before, they certainly would if they heard how absurd you're being."

"Who asked anything from you, eavesdropper?" Éothain grumbled.

"Yes, go and mind your own business", Éomer agreed. He narrowed his eyes. "What even _is _your business at this hour?"

"It's not forbidden to be awake at night, is it?" Elfhelm said innocently. Éothain's face turned into a grin.

"My lord, I believe Marshal Elfhelm is on his way to pay a visit to one Freda of your household", said the captain helpfully.

"About the damn time", Éomer said and grinned as well. "Should we expect a wedding some time soon? You ought to tell us, so that we can arrange a proper bachelor party for you."

"Indeed. I do think you should get to that soon, Elfhelm. You know how Freda's mother is, and she'd love nothing better than getting to come after you with a spear if she thinks you're not going to make an honest woman of her daughter", Éothain agreed.

Elfhelm didn't bother to answer, but chose to leave; he went about his way, muttering to himself as he walked.

The captain gave the king a victorious grin.

"You, Lord of the Mark, owe me a barrel of mead – like was agreed in our bet", he said cheerfully.

Scratching at his beard, Éomer gave his captain a thoughtful look.

"Would you mind opening that barrel now, old fellow?"

* * *

On a bright day of late April, Stán the Mute's way for a hunting trip was cut short.

Lately, the lands of the Wold had seen more traffic than he had observed in a long time. Riders came more often, and on his trips to the nearest village, he had even heard talks that the King was planning to build new settlements in these parts. The times were truly changing.

The riders came speeding from south, and at first he did not realise they were looking for him. Who would have business with a simple hunter like him? But then one of the riders shouted: "You there! Master Stán!"

Looking at the man who had called him, Stán knew the rider. It was one of the men who had accompanied the King when he had been looking for that girl. Briefly, he wondered how that had ever turned out. His thoughts were interrupted then as the rider stopped by his side, and Stán looked up at the man with what he hoped was an inquisitive look.

"Lord of the Mark requests your presence in Edoras, Master Stán. He has sent us to bring you to him", said the rider.

Frowning to himself, Stán wondered: what could the King possibly want with him? He was just a simple hunter who concerned himself with only his own business. Evidently his confusion showed on his face, for the rider smiled.

"Be at ease, friend. The King only wishes to speak with you", he said, at which Stán's frown deepened. He wasn't much of a conversationalist so it would be a very short and one-sided talk. However, he didn't know how he could say no to the King's summons, so he just nodded.

The rider offered Stán his hand to pull him up on the horse's back, and shutting his eyes tight, he allowed himself to be lifted from the ground.

Oh, how he hated horses.

* * *

Stán had never seen Edoras before, but he supposed it was a grand sight when they rode into the capital of the Mark. Certainly there was a bustle there one did not see in the small villages he was accustomed to. He had to admit he was more or less impressed, but Stán knew where his home was and it was not this place. The sooner he'd get to return back to the plains of the Wold, the better... unless the King had some ill thing in his mind.

Perhaps he had somehow learned Stán had not told him the whole truth about that strange girl and he was angry?

And so, as the riders who had fetched him from the Wold escorted him to the Golden Hall, Stán's mind was filling with concern and questions. He barely paid any attention to his surroundings, and so the sights of Edoras and Meduseld were more or less lost to him.

The King was standing by a collapsible table and talking in quiet voice with three men. Though he wasn't wearing his armour now, he did look just as intimidating as Stán recalled. But the man he remembered had been a sad and melancholy one. As the Lord of the Mark turned to look at Stán, there was no trace of whatever phantoms had haunted him when they had briefly met on the plains. At the sight of the mute hunter, the King even smiled.

Clumsily Stán bowed on the front of the tall man.

"Master Stán!" called the King. "You finally arrive. I've been waiting rather anxiously for you."

Apparently his confusion showed on his face, for the young monarch continued, "I've called you here so that I can properly thank you and reward you on the behalf of one whom I love. Two years ago you came across a young woman in the wild. You took her to your dwelling and cared for her injury. She did not stay long enough to tell you who she was or what had happened to her, and perhaps you have wondered about her afterwards."

Stán remembered that event very well – how could he have forgotten about it? He had sometimes speculated what had come of the girl and if she had even made it in the wild, and he still wore the brooch she had left. So he nodded to the King as a sign that he understood and to confirm the tall man's words.

Éomer King smiled again.

"Master Stán, I am pleased to tell you that this young woman lives. She survived her trial, doubtlessly thanks to your aid. She lives and her name is Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth", he said, and placed one hand on Stán's shoulder. "And she's soon to ride here, to become my wife, and it would be an honour to the both of us if you were there on the day we are wed. We owe our deepest gratitude to you, Master Stán."

At that, Stán really couldn't do else than smile.

_She lives. _

* * *

_May 3021, Dol Amroth_

The spring was already turning summer when the day of bridal procession was set to leave from Dol Amroth. They would sail up Anduin to Minas Tirith, where King Elessar along with his Queen would join them; Éowyn and Faramir would come along as well. From the White City, the retinue would travel by Great West Road to Edoras. And that was not all of it, as many courtiers from Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith would travel to Edoras too. In a sense, Éomer and Lothíriel's wedding would also be a celebration for the two prosperous years after Sauron's downfall. The renowned members of the Fellowship of the Ring were all invited, and even the hobbits from the Shire would come to join the celebration. Lothíriel was very much looking forwards to seeing Meriadoc and Peregrin, and Glorfindel as well, and she tried not to think of the goodbyes that would take place after the wedding.

She did not sleep very well that night before the departure, as her restlessness plagued her with dreams that one could not really call nightmares, though they were not any less disturbing. So she kept tossing and turning, until at first light she finally sat up and decided she was done with sleeping for the night. Perhaps her dreams would be more restful once they were on the road.

Slowly she rose up and washed her face. Then she began to make her bed – something usually reserved for the maids. The sky was getting brighter by the moment, with first rays of sun colouring the clouds with beautiful shades of red. Lothíriel stood a long moment just watching the sunrise until finally busying herself with dressing up. She had picked a simple midnight blue gown for the travel as there was no reason to dress spectacularly on a ship voyage.

After dressing up and securing everything was in perfect order, Lothíriel let out a sigh. Was it too early to go and find something to eat? Then again, perhaps she should share the breakfast with her family... but then, she didn't really feel hungry. Somehow, her stomach was reacting as if she'd get to see her beloved this very day instead of couple of weeks.

She tried to sit down for a while, but that proved to be a futile attempt and she wandered about in her room, touching her things with gentle fingers. When at last she estimated that it was the time for breakfast she departed for the door. But before stepping out Lothíriel turned one more time to watch her old chamber.

This room had been hers for as long as she could remember. Her maiden chamber... perhaps she'd stay here again once she was married, but she had no idea when the next time came that she'd even see this room. Giving it up was somehow sad, but exciting as well.

It was time to move on.

* * *

Lothíriel had not known before just how laborious it was for royal escorts to move. Comparing to the way they made after Minas Tirith, travelling from Dol Amroth had been fast – even if she had felt like going mad for half of it. Well, at least until after the city of her birth had been left behind. Amrothos had found it funny that a daughter of Dol Amroth would feel restless with a ship under her feet. In her anxiety, she had very nearly pushed her brother over board, but fortunately for the prince, Aredhel had been there to restrain her.

If it was bothersome for her father to leave the city to attend to a formal event such as the wedding of his daughter and the King of Rohan, everything was tenfold when it came to King Elessar. It looked like a half of his court had come along, and as Lothíriel studied the caravan of nobility, guards, servants and so on, she did regret the fact that she had not succeeded in eloping with Éomer. It all seemed such a needless fuss, even if she did in theory understand the idea about it not only being a wedding but also a celebration for new life and peace.

As the retinue was so large, the travel west was not quick. If there was anything good about it, at least it gave her time to say goodbye to many things – not only to her family, but past.

And so, on one night, she entered her father's tent, for she was not the only one who had to make peace with things that had happened.

Prince Imrahil smiled at the sight of his daughter. He was sat by a collapsible table and writing something. Tent had little other furnishings, as he had insisted on travelling light.

"Evening, daughter", he greeted her. "Is something amiss?"

"No, Father", she said and walked over to him to give her father a kiss on the brow. "There's just something we need to speak of."

"Of course. Go ahead, my dear", he said and gestured her to sit across him.

As soon as she was seated, Lothíriel began to speak. She described the obscure note she had gotten back in March, and how she and Erfréa had followed where it had lead. Her father frowned at that and she could very well imagine what he was thinking, though he did not interrupt her. As she carried on and told him of Aradhain's repentance, his frown grew ever deeper and his mouth became a thin line.

That was the first time she wondered if she had made the wrong decision in letting Aradhain go.

Finally, she came to the story's end and her father sighed heavily.

"My dearest daughter", he said quietly. "This is... I do not know what to say."

"I understand if you're angry with me", she said hurriedly. "It's not a choice I made with a light heart, but... I think it was the right one. If only you had seen him, Father! You would understand that he really wasn't the same man as the one who assaulted me."

"But how can you be sure that he has changed his ways?" Imrahil asked doubtfully. Lothíriel bit her lip and looked down.

"For all he knew, I could have arrived with half of the guards of Dol Amroth behind me, yet he trusted that I wouldn't. When we got there, he was armed, and I only had the blade Éomer gave me. Aradhain could easily have knocked that from my hand. And yet the moment we saw him, he fell on his knees and offered his life to us. He had no way of knowing if we would even stop to listen to him. He would have died there if he had thought it would give me the peace of mind. But he gave _me _the choice to decide if that was what I needed", she said slowly, seeking her father's eyes. "And I pitied him, Father. He was... I couldn't hate him anymore, or even fear. I pitied him enough to give him the chance of bettering himself. He didn't think he deserved that chance, and maybe he was right in thinking so. But like he trusted me and gave me the choice over his life, I decided to give it to him in turn. It felt good, Father. When he left, I was _free._"

The Prince thought of her words for a long while before he spoke again. When he did, his face was solemn.

"Daughter, I'm sure you made the choice that was right for you. But should the knowledge of this come to your brothers, or to your betrothed... I do not think they will understand it, not right away at least. They would want to see him served with justice for what he did, and they're not wrong to wish it. They're not going to thank you for letting him go", he said at length, as if he had carefully considered each word.

"I know", Lothíriel said with a grimace. A troubled feeling was starting to fill her, and she looked at her father in concern, "Do you think I did wrong? I just... I needed to do it. I need to forget. Has death and revenge ever helped anyone to forget? Seeing his regret and... and giving him the chance of redeeming himself... it was the only thing I could do."

"The choice was and is yours", he said softly. "Though his deeds caused pain to us all, you're still the one who suffered the most because of him. And if you can let go of him, then... then perhaps we all should. I trust your judgement, Lothíriel. I know now that your happiness is more important to me than my own consolation."

She smiled at that and went over to hug her father. He rested his head against her lap and sighed, and after that moment of tenderness, he looked up at her.

"He's not going to be safe in the kingdoms of west, though. If he ever returns to Rohan or Gondor, he will have to answer for his actions", Imrahil said gravely.

"I know that, Father. And if it comes to that, I will not stand on the way of justice. But I don't think we're going to see him again. Aradhain is gone, more than in just one sense", she answered softly.

To herself, she hoped that Éomer would be able to understand that.

* * *

At the border of Rohan and Gondor, a group of riders waited for the retinue. The King himself had sent them as an escort to his bride. It was of course unlikely that any surviving pack of orcs would ever attack a company such as the large retinue that wasn't only heavily guarded but also lead by none else than the King of Gondor, but it was rather like her husband-to-be to come up with an idea like this.

"He has had months and months to work himself into hysterics and I wouldn't even be terribly surprised to hear they had to chain him several times before he raced to Dol Amroth to see if you are still alive. If I were you, I'd be happy that he didn't send an entire éored with the sole task of watching your every move", Erfréa helpfully informed her friend, which made Lothíriel grimace.

"It's a good thing we'll be married soon. Éomer is not the only one who would go crazy if we had to wait any longer than we already have", she said, shaking her head. Then she frowned, "I hope Éothain has kept an eye on him. I can actually imagine him climbing on the walls of Meduseld... and driving everyone else mad as well while he's doing it."

That made Erfréa grin.

"Our King is a temperamental fellow. Half temper, half mental", she said with no little amount of pride, and Lothíriel couldn't but laugh at that.

Travelling with the riders Éomer had sent proved to be entertaining enough, even if the princess did not feel she truly needed their protection. For one, they were a cheerful bunch, and apparently they found great amusement in reciting stories about their King. Though they seemed to adore the Lord of the Mark, they also loved to tell amusing anecdotes about his younger years. To herself, she thought half of those stories sounded like they had grown larger than they actually were, both by hearsay and the effect of drinking horn.

Erfréa was enjoying their company more than anyone else, as she got to hear her own language and after all she had been away for some time. After being surrounded by Gondorians it was probably very refreshing to interact with people from her own culture.

Amrothos joined them often, too. In the Rohirrim he seemed to find odd bunch of kindred spirits, and not even the language barriers prevented him from making fast friends. Usually his communication attempts included a lot of waving his arms and making faces, and for the most parts, he even succeeded in getting through his message (though Lothíriel wasn't so sure what that usually was).

The sight of familiar grass plains made the princess feel suddenly very light. It was as if a heavy burden, one that she had not even realized she had been carrying, had finally been lifted from her heart. Somehow it was almost like coming home. The sight of windy plains made her heart swell and she would have liked nothing better than to just race Sunrise with Erfréa and Éowyn who also often took time to ride with them.

As the escort rode through the countryside, peasants came to see the grand company riding by, evidently quite pleased when they realized that this was the bridal escort of their King's betrothed. The princess could not help but grin and wave enthusiastically at the fair-haired folk ("That is not a proper or a regal thing to do! Try and follow Queen Arwen's lead!" Aunt Ivriniel scolded), much like she had done when she had last travelled this way; only, this time her greeting was answered with smiles and waving back.

"It is so good to be here again! I almost forgot how different air and wind are here", Erfréa said cheerfully, lifting her face towards the sun. "No offence, Lothig, but I will not miss that stench of fish!"

The princess laughed.

"To be honest, it is one of the things I will not miss about Dol Amroth", she answered. She had felt very nostalgic when leaving her home and for a little bit even the smell of the harbour had seemed dear, but in retrospect she was fairly sure she must have been mad to think so.

"You will miss the sea, though, will you?" Erfréa asked.

"Most likely I will. But I try to be positive. Éowyn left the plains and horse herds and chose the sunny woodlands of Ithilien, and she seems very happy. And it is not like I am going to be confined into a small room for the rest of my life, with nothing else to do than mope", Lothíriel answered, shrugging as she spoke. And, like she had told Éomer, _he _was her homeland.

The journey was uneventful and so it was marked with restlessness for the bride-to-be, but finally after what felt like an eternity they sighted Edoras far in the distance. After riding up that last hill Lothíriel's seeking eyes spotted the great hill and suddenly her heartbeat turned almost frantic. He was there waiting for her, so near now, and in few short – yet long – days they would be married! And there, on the top stood Meduseld, proud and majestic, the heart of the Riddermark. Here she would dwell from now on, with her husband and their future children. This was her home, and that was a thought that made her intensely happy. The horns of Gondor were blown to announce their arrival and for a moment air was filled with the noise. Even the most suspicious lady of Gondor, the princess thought, must have felt excited at the sight of Edoras, the capital of horselords.

"Home sweet home! There is no sight like Edoras and Meduseld! You may keep your cold stone palaces, Amrothos!" Erfréa exclaimed to the prince riding beside her, receiving looks from some of the courtiers riding near them. The Rohirrim accompanying them grinned however, probably very much agreeing with the young woman.

"Lothíriel! Why don't you come and travel with me for the rest of the journey?" Aunt Ivriniel called the princess from her carriage.

"Bah, Aunt! We are entering the capital of the Rohirrim! They _want _to see Lothíriel riding!" Amrothos answered. The elderly woman muttered something, probably with displeasure, but Lothíriel was too excited to care.

"It is good to be here again. I have missed Meduseld – but do not tell Faramir that", Éowyn said, smiling.

"Erfréa, Éowyn? Are you with me?" Lothíriel asked suddenly. Anxiety had come to her and she'd be damned if she carried on with this slow dragging pace for one moment more. She was not going to wait for any longer!

"Of course we are! What is in your mind?" Erfréa asked, her eyes glinting at the possibility of some mischief.

"Just follow me, ladies! Let us show these people what it means to ride a Rohirric horse!" Lothíriel said, urging Sunrise.

"Oh, no you don't!" yelled Elphir who had been riding near them and realised what Lothíriel was about to do. He tried to catch the reins, but Sunrise had already picked up her mistress' idea, and the mare threw itself into a wild gallop, and all Elphir managed to catch was air. Éowyn and Erfréa followed immediately after; being women of Rohan, they did not need to be told about the excitement and the pleasure of riding fast. And they knew how this kind of entrance would please the people of Edoras.

"Lothíriel!" poor Aunt gasped as the three women sprinted forth – she would be so angry for the princess ruining their regal arrival – and Imrahil also looked a bit awkward (but to Amrothos it looked like there was a small smile on his father's lips), whereas Faramir was grinning widely at the sight of his wife. Three of the Rohirric escorts shot after the three women, but they kept their distance. To them one did not need to explain Lothíriel's feat.

And she rode. By Valar, she rode! Sunrise galloped, flying like a storm gust from west over the grass plains, and the wind was on Lothíriel's hair and face and she laughed; she was fast and free, she was racing towards her future and suddenly she could remember old Bilbo's words: _the world is yours now. _It was, it was in her soul and there was music in her heart, the most powerful song of all – the song of life.

* * *

The day of her arrival was sunny and the scent of summer was in the air, and on the morning Éomer had indulged himself with a quick riding trip. After that he had been buried deep in negotiations with his advisers and he did not even notice the time passing until he thought he heard a sound of horns. Only moments after a guard came to tell that the bridal escort was riding towards Edoras. With all their supplies and wagons it would take half the afternoon for the company to reach their destination, but the mere prospect of the bridal party getting nearer, _her _approaching him, was intoxicating. Lothíriel was on her way to him and this time, she'd stay.

Knowing he would not be able to concentrate on work, Éomer sent his advisers away and went to stand on the stone terrace, watching the escort make its way towards Edoras. A word had been sent for his household – he wanted all of them to be there when their new mistress would arrive – and some of his folk had already come to see the arrival of the princess. After all, this was just as exciting time for them as it was for him. Most of them knew Lothíriel already from her stay in Edoras, of course, but Éomer felt a little bit of formality was in order.

Suddenly, as he watched the bridal escort, six riders sprung forth from the multitude. Their horses were galloping as if the riders could not possibly have reached the capital of Rohan fast enough, and soon his eyes were fixed on the trio on the front. He did not possess the keen eyes of Elf-kind, but he could see the midnight dark hair flowing in the wind, and he did recognize the golden mare that rode in the front. It was _her, _she was coming for him, and he wanted nothing as much as to run down to the stables, jump on Firefoot's back and ride to meet her. But with the speed she was nearing Edoras he knew she would be here soon enough anyway.

"Is that Erfréa? Is she riding with the Princess? Oh, Béma, they're coming home!" Éothain fussed – he looked like he was just as anxious as his King was feeling. And people were starting to gather on the terrace to see the three riders and their excitable chatter filled the air. Even Master Flód, who was usually so reserved, was there, peering towards the riding trio.

Soon the women reached the gate that had been opened for them, and the horns of the guards were blown even though they probably knew their King was already anxiously watching the arrival of his bride.

And finally he saw them riding up the hill: his wife-to-be, his sister and their friend. Erfréa was grinning madly, and Éowyn waved at her brother in enthusiasm, happiness shining on her face. And Lothíriel... the young woman was like the sun, for such love and elation there was on her face when their eyes locked. He could not hold himself anymore, but as the princess dismounted he strode – or ran – to meet her, and after so many months she had come and he captured her in his arms... she was finally here and hopefully he would never again have to bear her absence for months and months at time... his heart was full for she was with him again.

"I love you!" she breathed weakly and he kissed her, the beloved companion of his heart and soul; she laughed and cried and he loved her so much, and he wanted to never let go of her.

She had come home.

* * *

**A/N: **And so Lothíriel and Éomer are finally reunited and the wedding is growing nigh. I had to largely rewrite this chapter because the original version was kind of badly written, but I'm happy with this version. I'll probably have to rewrite the next chapter too, and I think that's going to take a while. Anyway, I hope you like this update!

Couple more words on Captain Aradhain. Mostly I've gotten pretty positive comments on the resolution of his story, and that relieves me as I was not so sure of what reactions that might cause. There's been some negative feedback too and I can understand that, but ultimately I think Lothíriel letting him go is more true to the spirit of Tolkien's writings than her thirsting for revenge. Pity is, after all, an important theme in Tolkien's works, and I think Aradhain is a pitiful character in many ways. Though Lothíriel's pity is unlikely to have such a dramatic effect on the future as, say, Bilbo's pity has, I do believe it is the healthiest option for her. It's the only way she can truly heal, and even though her brothers or Éomer might not initially agree with letting him go, I'd say they'd eventually understand why and how she needed to make that choice. Tolkien's works also maintain that as men are capable of great evil, so they can have redemption, and that is what I want to illustrate with Aradhain. That does not mean his actions are justified - just that we all have dark and light in us, and our choices determine which one is stronger.

Thanks for the comments!

* * *

**BrightWatcher -** I'm happy to hear you think so! :)

**Katia0203 - **That I leave for you to decide, though I certainly am not against the idea of him being one of the Blue Wizards... that is, after all, what might sound the most plausible answer.

**Shango Sanguine - **I always wanted to know more about them. Pity that Tolkien didn't write more about the two and their deeds.

I do think this resolution does give him more complexity as a character, even if it's not a completely unproblematic one. But then, life often is that way.

**AA - MamaBirdCat - **Glad to hear that! :)

**DBT the awesome - **Yes, I do feel this choice is more in character for this version of Lothíriel.

**cailinbeag - **The good thing about fanfiction is that you can often make decisions that would not be so lightly received in published stories... still, it's probably for the better if those decisions are left sparse, because even fanfiction needs to make sense. Like I said in the beginning of this story, there are elements here that should be taken with a grain of salt. It's not a perfect story, but it's one I needed to write, and one that helped me.

And no, you didn't go overboard with your comments! They're all very much appreciated. :)

As for the blue man - no, he's not Stán. Our mute hunter lives in the Wold and he's not too keen about leaving those parts, so I don't think he'd ever end up so far in south-east as to come across Aradhain.

**cCeret - **Am I wrong to think that, in a way, that is something of a strength? I mean, sometimes life is like that. It's hard to tell which path is the right one, and even after choosing to follow one you're still torn between the two options. I fully understand why you feel so, though. **  
**


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

The night air was warm and there was little breath in the air. One could practically taste the summer in it on this last night of spring that was also the last night that Éomer King of Rohan spent unmarried.

Down on the plains, just beyond the mounds of Simbelmynë, the tents shone in the light of camp fires. It had been absolutely impossible to house all the guests in the King's House. Only the highest ranking visitors had been given rooms in Meduseld and in other buildings large enough for guests. Aragorn and Arwen were there, of course, but Imrahil and his sons had declined the offer. They preferred to stay with Lothíriel down in the tents, which housed a large and varied gathering from Gondor.

In Rohan, it was customary that the bride and the bridegroom did not spend a night under the same roof before they were wedded. Somehow, it had seemed proper that she wouldn't stay in any house of Edoras either, and lodging at the tents had an entire symbolical meaning to it. When Éomer had earlier visited the camp, it had felt like a bit of Gondor had been brought to these plains; in a way it was like tomorrow he'd ride from Rohan and enter Dol Amroth to fetch her.

Four days it had been since their arrival, and tomorrow, she'd be his wife. _His wife. _Had time ever been so long and tedious as it was now? Had it all depended just on the two of them, he'd have married her the day she arrived. At least none of her family or Gondorian courtiers had been there to see their reunion – Éomer was fairly sure kings ought not to kiss princesses like he had kissed her then, even if they were meant to marry – and by the time Imrahil along with his intimidating sister and his sons had arrived, the most urgent passions had fortunately already been satisfied.

Another reunion to take place on that day had been the meeting of Lothíriel and Master Stán, the mute man who had saved her life when she had gotten lost in the wild. At the sight of him, she had let out a muffled cry and fallen on her knees in the front of him, and he had flushed with embarrassment when she had sobbed her gratitude and kissed his hands. Only when Éomer saw his bride's deep thankfulness had he realised just how much they owed this lonely man who had taken pity on her.

Without him, all of this would not be happening.

A voice of a friend alarmed him then and brought him back from those memories: "One must wonder why aren't you in your bachelor party at the moment, brother."

Aragorn had come to stand beside the younger man, wearing a fond half-smile on his face.

"One should be informed that I do not have great trust on myself at the moment. I'd only end up drinking too much and I don't want to insult my bride or her father by appearing pale and stinking of ale on the front of them tomorrow", Éomer said firmly. That made his friend chuckle.

"What's so funny?" asked the King of the Mark.

"I was just entertained by the idea of you throwing up on Imrahil's feet", Aragorn said lightly.

"You have a cruel mind, brother", Éomer answered and grimaced. That seemed to amuse his fellow king way more than it should have.

"Of course. I usually hide it better", Aragorn answered. Then his smile turned gentler, and he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm glad for you. Truly, I am. It is good to see you and your princess so happy."

"Thank you, my friend", said the Rohir quietly, and his own face broke into a large smile. "It's hard to believe, you know. Even now that she's finally here. I never thought... years I spent thinking I'd never get to see this happen, and tomorrow... but you know all of that, don't you? Probably even better than I ever will."

"It is something I'd not go through again", Aragorn agreed softly. "But those times are past. Tomorrow, they're past for you as well."

"Aye", Éomer muttered, casting yet another long look at the Gondorian tents.

"Now, come back inside. I promise to take care that they don't make you drink yourself silly", said his friend, smiling as he spoke. "After all, it _is _your last night as a free man."

"If I have a hangover tomorrow, I'll hold you directly responsible", Éomer informed Aragorn, which brought a perfectly innocent expression to the older man's face.

"Of course, your lordship", he said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Watch it, O King of Gondor. I'd hate to have to thrash you", answered the King of Rohan.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself, my lord", Aragorn answered, lifting his eyebrows.

"Why shouldn't I be, Grandfather?" Éomer asked jovially, and the two men made their way back inside.

* * *

_June 3021, Edoras_

The whole morning of the wedding day had been spent in preparations. If it was so busy in the tent accommodations that had been raised next to Edoras, Lothíriel could only imagine how it was up in Meduseld. The princess hoped Éowyn could have been there with her and her friends, but she knew the older woman was very busy with all the preparations (or just trying to control her brother).

The princess had to confess that maybe the pure white gown, embroidered with gold and silver, _was _worth of all that work that had been done during winter. The bodice was tight-fitting, with the sleeves hugging her upper arms and then flowing down like fountains of soft, transparent fabric. The skirts were long and heavy, and she wore a light silver cape that did nothing to bring warmth, but at least it looked kind of pretty. When Erfréa found some flowers from the fields, Lothíriel forsook the heavy diadem she had meant to wear. Instead, Aredhel was set loose on her hair, and in the end it was like a dark crown of elaborate braids, decorated only by flowers. They were the only headdress she needed.

"There! Éomer's eyes will drop when he sees you!" Erfréa said, sounding very satisfied when the women finally finished their attack on the princess. The younger woman herself was quite a sight in her light green dress, and the princess refrained from making comments about how certain captain would have equal trouble with his eyes. That observation might have been lost on Erfréa anyway; it looked like she was the only one completely oblivious to the looks of longing Éothain had been giving to her ever since they had arrived to Edoras.

"I look that bad?" she joked weakly nonetheless.

"Yes, you are absolutely hideous. Hide quickly before he rides here and thinks you are an orc!" Erfréa said dryly, rolling her eyes.

"You have nothing to worry about, Lothíriel. You'll see, about as soon as he gets here", Aredhel smiled and patted the bride's arm comfortingly.

"I hope you are right. What if he changes his mind? What if he doesn't want me after all?" Lothíriel worried, wringing her hands as she thought of the horrifying image in her mind: him appearing in the front of her, only to announce the wedding was cancelled.

"Oh, stop that already! You're not going to have _that _breakdown now after you've been pining after him for so long. Dearest Lothig, have you gone completely unawares of how he has been barely been able to take his eyes off you these past few days? The man worships the ground you walk on and I honestly don't know how you can doubt that", Erfréa said and shook Lothíriel's arm impatiently. The princess thought about pointing out the irony of that statement, what with the whole matter of lovesick Captain Éothain, but as her father chose that moment to enter, she decided it could wait for later.

He was looking very dashing himself – Lothíriel believed some of the widowers would give him a merry chase – and he looked at his daughter with bitter-sweet expression. The women exited, sensing the need for a quiet father-daughter moment.

"You are very beautiful, my daughter. One could think Éomer was marrying an Elven princess", he commented and came to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, Father", Lothíriel said faintly and embraced him. He held her tight for a long moment.

"Well, what can I say? I know you will be safe and happy here. These past days, I have watched you two enough to know that your life together will be full of love", he said softly. Lothíriel sought for the right words, but nothing seemed to really capture what she was feeling just now.

"Father... thank you for letting me do this. I know it's hard for you to let me go... I understand that now", she whispered.

"I only want you to be happy, daughter... and I know that no one will make you as happy as he will. That is the only reason I bear to part with you", he answered and it seemed like they would both start crying any moment now, when a bright sound of horn brought them back to reality.

"There he comes, to claim my beautiful daughter... Let us go then. I know you are anxious to see him", Imrahil smiled then and offered his arm to Lothíriel. She gave him a bright smile and placed her hand on his arm for the last time as an unmarried woman.

They stepped outside, side by side. It was a beautiful day, sun caressing the grass plains and with only little breath in the air. It was the first day of June – the first day of summer, it felt in a way.

The company of the King of Rohan was approaching the blue tents of Dol Amroth, and Lothíriel immediately sought out her beloved from the group. And there he was, riding on the front of his escort in full regalia: long dark coat embroidered with gold and silver and rich green cloak – he had even donned on his crown, though she knew how he hated that particular object. His hair shone golden in sunlight, and briefly she thought he was as the image of the west wind as he rode to claim his bride.

His eyes found hers, and for a moment he looked very much like he had on that fateful Yule night, his eyes widening at the sight of her. But then there was pride and happiness for the knowledge that from this day forward they did not have to share their love in darkness anymore. And just thinking that, she nearly burst in tears.

Éomer took his eyes away from her, turning to her father who was standing tall and straight beside her.

"Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, I am come to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage. Will you allow me to ride with her, so that she may come to live with me as my wife and my Queen?" the Lord of the Mark asked with strong voice that did not betray his emotions.

"I will, Éomer King. Here is Princess Lothíriel, my beloved daughter. May she bring honour and glory to the House of Eorl!" Imrahil answered. Then the King turned to look at his bride.

"Princess Lothíriel, I ask of you the great honour of joining the path of my life with yours. Will you ride with me today, so that I may bring you to my house and live as your husband on this day and all the days after it?"

"I will ride with you on this day, my King, and every day as long as there is breath of life left in me", she answered. Fortunately no long speeches were required of her, for she wasn't sure she could have delivered many such lines without her voice breaking down into a sob.

Keeping his face as calm as he could, Éomer dismounted and approached Lothíriel. He bowed at her and she placed her hand in his as a sign of her consent, and he led her to his horse: it was customary for the bride and the groom to ride together. He lifted her to saddle and then mounted behind her, wrapping a strong, solid arm around her waist to prevent her from falling.

Everything after that was seen as if through some golden haze. The ride up to Meduseld, the smiling people who had gathered there... The faces of people she loved: Father, her brothers, Éowyn, Faramir, Erfréa, Glorfindel. She could even see Master Stán, the man who had effectively saved her life: he stood side by side with Éothain... But most important of all, she saw her beloved Éomer_. _When they dismounted, he took her hand and led her up to the stone terrace where the crowd could see them. And the words he spoke were golden and true, as he knelt in the front of her, offering the hilt of his sword to her... she would forever remember his look of adoration, the weight of Gúthwinë, the way his hand felt when it came to rest on hers as she accepted his protection for her and the family they would raise together. The vows were exchanged, vows of love and loyalty, of companionship and devotion, as Mithrandir bound together their hands with a green ribbon and blessed their union. And the sun was shining, with the wind of western lands and the song of life roaring strong, and the Valar must be watching for how else would she feel so blessed, so loved?

Then, finally, the Promise they had made on a night that world had seemed so dark was fulfilled and she would not have traded it for the all the treasures of Valinor: for Éomer took her in his arms, kissed her deeply and the only thing she could really think of was _we are together. _

* * *

What happened after the ceremonial part was best described by saying that a happy chaos broke out. People came to congratulate them, and there was teary-eyed Father and her brothers and Éowyn with Faramir, and Erfréa hugged Lothíriel for a long while and there was a huge grin on her face. King Elessar and Queen Arwen, Halflings Merry and Pippin, Éothain, Glorfindel, Prince Legolas, Gimli, Erkenbrand and Lady Léoma, Mithrandir, Marshal Elfhelm... The golden haze would not fade, not even when a sour-looking Lady Clauriel came to greet the newly-wed couple with her parents... Éomer was holding her and she was leaning on him and she could not believe it had really happened – they were a husband and a wife now, after all those tears and despair and the belief they would never be able to be together like this...

When the necessary congratulations had been dealt with, Éomer offered her his arm, and she took it. He escorted her inside, which was a meaningful act itself: entering the Golden Hall together was yet another seal on the marriage, as was the first drink and meal they'd shortly share. While the Rohirrim could be in many ways be regarded as a less reserved people than Gondorians, that did not mean they did not place value and meaning in their rituals. Erfréa had said that even after the ceremony on the stone terrace Lothíriel could still have refused her new husband, just by not agreeing to follow him in. But that was of course an absurd idea as far as she was concerned.

The guests poured in after the newly wed couple and the Golden Hall appeared to fill to the very last corner with smiling faces. Together, the King and his Queen lifted a toast, wishing their guests welcome; he gave her the first taste of sweet mead and emptied the drinking horn after her. Then the banquet began and the Hall was full of smells of food and chatter and laughter, and an atmosphere of cheer was over all.

Lothíriel sat beside her husband, of course. It was difficult to keep her eyes away from him, and he seemed to have similar problem. She would not have remembered to eat had he not reminded her every now and then, but even then she hardly took notice of what she ate. Fortunately the guests appeared to collectively agree that the newly wed pair was much too absorbed by each other to really participate in any socialising. Aragorn was engaged in lively conversation with Mithrandir and Imrahil, while Arwen chatted away with Éowyn and Erfréa. Aredhel and Faramir conversed of something with looks of conspirators on their faces, and one could only wonder what it was they were talking about. Elphir seemed to have found a kindred spirit in Elfhelm, and Erchirion was bombarding Erkenbrand with endless questions. Amrothos, like could be expected of him, was causing havoc amongst the poor unmarried Rohirric girls, and the Halflings were gathering quite a crowd, Legolas and Gimli with them, to hear their joyful drinking songs from Shire (which seemed to personally offend Aunt Ivriniel; the woman quickly flew to the other side of hall to talk with Lady Léoma). And by the wall, Glorfindel sat beside Master Stán and though they sat silent, both of them wore looks as if they were deep in conversation – which could just have been what they were doing. Truly, it was a night of celebration for peace and life.

"Did I already say that you are beautiful?" Éomer asked, leaning towards her. He had taken off his ceremonial cloak as it was rather warm in the hall.

"You did. Ten or twenty times", Lothíriel smiled.

"It is not nearly enough", he remarked and smiled. She punched his arm, gently though, and he captured her hand, which he gave a kiss. There was a radiating smile on his face and it almost caught her breath; she decided to tell him that later when they were alone.

"You know, earlier I worried that you might come to change your mind – that you wouldn't want to marry me after all", she told him quietly. He looked at her dubiously.

"How on earth could you possibly think such thing?" he wondered. "What does a man need to do to convince you that he is completely and quite madly in love with you?"

She let out a weak little laugh, somehow heavy with tears of happiness, and leant towards her husband to kiss him.

"I know it was stupid. Just the nerves, I suppose. And... after everything, it's still hard to believe that this is actually happening", she said quietly.

"Aye", he said, his voice turning soft as well. "It's like a dream. You here, with me, and my wife... I've lived a troubled life, and now I can practically feel it changing."

She smiled at that and he took her hand in his. Gently, he kissed her fingers.

"Would you have believed this would happen? Back on that night of Yule, when we kissed behind the Golden Hall, and we made the Promise?" she asked softly. His face turned serious at that question.

"I hoped", he said slowly, "but dared not to believe. And then... you were gone, like I'd feared."

"But you found me again", she said, placing a hand on his cheek. "I'd go through it all again, just for the knowledge of what awaited us in the end."

"That is because you're stronger than I am", he said quietly and captured her lips in a kiss. She thought about telling him she was only strong because of him, but decided that too could wait for some other occasion.

"Béma's beard, I suppose it's useless to try and tell you two contain yourselves?" said Elfhelm; he looked like he had the mind of speaking with his King but was now doubting whether the Lord of the Mark was currently on a very conversational mood. Éomer gave the Marshal a smug smile.

"Some day you're going to marry, my friend, and when you are all over your bride, I will be there at the background pointing a finger at you and laughing", he said nonchalantly. "Now go away and let me kiss my wife."

Elfhelm snorted at that, but went about his way nevertheless, and Lothíriel couldn't help but giggle.

"You're horrible, dear husband", she told him.

"Of course I am. And that's why you love me so much, isn't it?" he asked with a charming smile.

"It's one of the reasons, yes", said the Queen and smiled. "But mostly I love you because of your lovely locks."

He laughed at that and kissed her once again.

After the banquet, he asked if she'd like to come and dance with him. Lothíriel eagerly agreed, and he led her to the open area that had been cleared for dancing. The musicians started to play a quick and lively tune then, and Lothíriel realized it was the same one they had danced to that Yule night. She still remembered the steps and her heart fluttered as he held her close and then lifted her high. Never would their eyes leave each other, and if there was a world outside their dance, they did not know of it.

They danced together for several songs, but then others came to claim her in a dance. Her father was the first one, smiling warmly at her. Then there was Elphir and Erchirion, and even Amrothos somehow succeeded in dancing with her for a while even though he seemed to have drunk ale a bit too much, and their dance probably resembled something from a ridiculous play. Then Aragorn came to save her from Amrothos, and Erchirion walked their brother to sit and perhaps have him drink something else than ale.

As they danced, Elessar told her how happy he was for both her and her new husband.

"I was very worried for him after the war, but I'm happy to see my fears undone", he said softly.

"My lord, I just hope that one day I might be able to properly thank your lady Queen for what she did for us", Lothíriel said. Elessar smiled.

"Lady Lothíriel, if I know my wife at all, I can say that the greatest show of gratitude you could ever give to her is just being happy", he said, and all she could do at that was to hug the King of Gondor. Fortunately he didn't seem like he minded such a reaction.

After Aragorn, Marshal Erkenbrand came to claim her for a dance, all the while grinning like a madman. He would not end with his congratulations and thanks for making the King such a happy man, and Lothíriel could not help but answer his grin with one of her own. Éothain, ever the captain of royal guard, did not forget to remind her of safety and how she was supposed to be always careful, because apparently Éomer would kill him in a very painful way if anything ever happened to Lothíriel. But that conversation ended quickly, as they saw Erfréa trying to teach Glorfindel steps of a quick Rohirric dance, and the young Queen was fairly sure she'd never forget the sight of the noble Elven lord gleefully leaping about with the equally enthusiastic Erfréa. The two earned a loud applaud from the crowd when the song ended, and the madly grinning Rohir woman rushed to Lothíriel's side.

"My lady Queen!" she exclaimed and hugged the older woman. "You look positively radiant."

"I do? I wonder why that is", she said, smiling to herself. She linked her arm with her friend, "Mind walking with me for a bit?"

"Of course!" Erfréa said and the two women made their way through the crowd, until they got outside. A bit of fresh air seemed to be in order anyway after all the dancing. The setting sun had set the sky ablaze, and idly Lothíriel wondered if she had ever seen these plains looking quite so beautiful.

"I wish this day would never end", said the younger woman as they stopped to stand on the stone terrace.

"I wish the same", Lothíriel said softly. "This is arguably the happiest day of my life."

Erfréa turned to look at her; to her surprise, the young queen saw tears in her friend's eyes. In concern, she asked: "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"If only Móna could be here too", Erfréa whispered. "I miss her so much."

"As do I", Lothíriel said gently and wrapped her arms about the younger woman's shoulders. "But I think she'd want us to be happy, not mourn her."

"Aye. She'd be angry if we ruin this night by moping", agreed her friend, managing a teary little smile. "She's here, in a way. As long as we remember her, she'll never be completely gone."

All Lothíriel could do at that was hug her friend, and they held each other tight for a moment. Then the Queen decided a lighter topic was in order... and she knew just the thing.

"Did I already tell you that you look really beautiful tonight? Don't roll your eyes at your Queen, young lady. I'm not even the only one who thinks you're beautiful. Have you even seen how Captain Éothain has ogled you for ever since the ceremony?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"Captain Éothain?" Erfréa echoed, looking astonished. "Really? How would you know anything, you've barely acknowledged the existence of other people than Éomer King today?"

"Oh, I acknowledge a lot of things", Lothíriel answered nonchalantly. "And Éothain isn't really too secretive about the way he looks at you. Are you seriously telling me that you haven't noticed his admiration?"

The younger woman narrowed her eyes.

"Captain Éothain", she said again, more thoughtfully this time. "That is really interesting..."

"Éomer told me he was worried if you thought him too old. You know, I thought before that my husband was the only one who has been climbing on walls ever since he left Dol Amroth, but now I'm thinking there were two madmen here in Edoras while we were in south", Lothíriel said, hiding her smile.

"Lothig, let's go back inside. I must investigate this matter presently", Erfréa said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Smiling to herself, the Queen agreed and they returned to the Hall. She had a feeling no more interference was needed tonight. Once they were inside, Erfréa gave her a large grin and went off, and Lothíriel was fairly sure of who her friend had gone to find. As for herself, she joined Glorfindel for a dance.

"It has been quite a day. I keep asking myself, on all my years here in Middle-earth, why haven't I attended to a Rohirric wedding?" he asked as they twirled around among the other dancers.

"I know what you mean", Lothíriel agreed. She smiled, "And I can't even tell you how happy I am that we got married here in Rohan instead of Gondor."

"This does suit the two of you better", he said. A gentle look came to his eyes then. "I am glad to see that you have finally found your place... and that you're so happy. Otherwise, I don't know how I'd be able to leave with a light heart."

The thought of that turned her instantly serious.

"I'll miss you, when you're gone. You've been a good friend, Glorfindel", she said softly. Suddenly, it dawned to her that she'd never see him again when he'd leave Edoras. He'd sail West, where he'd dwell until the end of days. And she... hers was a life of mortals.

He seemed to know what she thought, and gently he squeezed her shoulder.

"Do not mourn such things on this day, Lothíriel. As long as love endures, our friendship will endure too. Our bond might not be of the kind that you share with your King, but I believe it is just as lasting in time and space", he told her kindly. "Now, smile, Lothíriel Queen. This day is yours, and it is not meant for sadness."

Smile she did, but ever so gently she folded this memory and this moment in her heart, so that her friend Glorfindel would always stay with her even when he'd be gone.

Then the most unexpected guest came to ask for a dance. It was Tirithon!

Young man was simply dressed, very much in the manner of Rangers of the North, but his smile was all the adornment he needed. It felt like such a long time since she had last seen him, but he looked like he was faring very well. With a happy squeal, she hugged him and he laughed. She followed him to the dance floor, happiness swelling inside her.

"You are very beautiful this night, Sídhadonnen", he said quietly, still calling her with a name Master Elrond had given to her.

"It is so good to see you! How are you here?" she wanted to know.

"Well, I have been busy running some errands for Aragorn back in north, and am now on my way to Minas Tirith to swear my allegiance to him again, now that he's King. So when I reached Helm's Deep last night, I heard that the King of Rohan was getting married today... so I decided to come here to see you. I'm just happy that I made it here in time", he explained.

"I am glad that you came. I feared you might not want to ever see me again after my... behaviour back in Rivendell", she said softly. Though it had been some time since she had last met the friend who had so loyally watched over her back in Imladris, there were still moments when she felt guilt for having disappointed him.

"Oh, do not worry about it. I suppose it wasn't an easy thing at first, but _this _is how it is meant to be. I see how much you love him... and how much he loves you back. You deserve this after what happened. I am glad to see you so happy", Tirithon smiled, ans she answered that with a smile of her own.

"'Happy' just barely describes what I am", she said softly. "I'm thankful. One is lucky to have a friend like you."

"Don't mention it, my friend. I wanted to save you, and I see now that you have been so well and thoroughly saved that I can move on. But you can always count on me to answer your call, if you ever need me."

"Thank you, Tirithon. And you can count on me, if you should need _my _help in turn", she told him.

He had fared rather well, the young Dúnadan revealed, telling her of his adventures eve since their ways had parted. He was already planning on accompanying King Elessar once the royal party would leave for the White City. Tirithon had seemed so unhappy when she had left Rivendell, but now there was new light in his eyes and Lothíriel knew she would not have to worry about him. When the song ended, she reminded him of the fact that he would always be welcome in Edoras. Tirithon smiled and let go of her, allowing her new husband to claim Lothíriel in his arms.

He gave her a long, slow kiss, which could have turned into something very interesting had they not been in the middle of wedding guests. When he pulled back and looked down at her, he grinned.

"You won't believe what I just saw outside, dear wife", he said. She wrapped her arms about his waist.

"Do tell me, beloved husband", she answered. His grin grew ever larger.

"Let us just say that Captain Éothain received a very thorough snogging and I don't think I'll have to tell you who gave it to him. If he ever comes down from those clouds he's currently floating in, it'll be a wonder", he told her. Lothíriel laughed, feeling more than just a little pleased with how things had turned out. Perhaps there was another Rohirric wedding in the immediate future.

"I take it Erfréa doesn't think him too old, then? Good for them, I suppose", she said and tiptoed to kiss him again. She looked up at him inquisitively. "One more dance, and then we'll retire?"

"Yes please", he answered, and once more they joined the crowd that was getting ever more cheerful (an effect of all the dancing and ale, no doubt). And for the moment, all the cares of the world seemed far away as she danced with her beloved King, golden and glorious and looking so happy that she wondered if she'd ever seen him so at peace. A thought came to her: _he's mine. _

But it was more than just that, for as she gazed at him, she realised she could not remember a time when _he _had not been there in her heart – she did not remember a time when she had not loved him. He was a part of her, perhaps the most integral one: the very breath of her life.

"We have to sneak out, I think. If the men see us, there will be much laughter and advice we do not really need, and half of them will want to come along to see us to bedchamber", he whispered when the song came to an end.

"Isn't there any customs of people needing to escort us to bed?" she asked.

"Your friends and some of my closest men will be there. We do not need more audience, do we?" he asked and smiled.

"You are very right, my king", she said as he lead her to the shadowy nave. Fortunately the wedding guests were much too occupied by feasting to notice the newly-wed pair sneak to the corridor leading to the royal apartment. Aragorn, Elfhelm, Erkenbrand and the blissful Captain Éothain, along with very drunk Amrothos (how he had gotten there, Lothíriel never knew) were waiting for Éomer, as Éowyn, Arwen, Aredhel and dazed-looking Erfréa claimed Lothíriel. The men were grinning insanely, looking very much like young boys as they lead the King of Rohan away.

The four women whisked her to the King's rooms. She had never been there and did not pay much attention to the homely sitting room when the women escorted her to the bedchamber. It was spacious and airy, with big windows looking over the plains. Now the curtains were drawn and only some candles were lighted. Éomer's armour rested on a stand in one corner, and there was a large carved wardrobe near the stand. The bed was a beautiful piece of furniture, with green and golden cushions and pillows. On its foot there was a huge chest that, if one wanted to move it, likely required the strength of at least two men. A cosy fire had been made in the fireplace, probably more for the atmosphere than actual need for warmth. A new addition appeared to be the delicate dressing table, on which some of her possessions had already been laid. There were beautiful carpets covering the floor, all with rich colours, and the walls were decorated in usual Rohirric manner; however, on the wall beside the White Horse of Rohan there was a tapestry picturing the Swan of Dol Amroth – a gesture that moved Lothíriel very much. It was a beautiful room, and Lothíriel could already imagine all those nights and mornings of love that would be spent here...

With fast efficiency her friends undressed her, picked the flowers from her hair and let it loose. Then they helped her into a thin nightgown that seemed to consist more of lace than actual fabric and Lothíriel climbed in the bed.

She had only just settled down under the covers when Amrothos' drunken singing began to approach the room. The young man was obviously very much enjoying himself and Lothíriel hoped their father would never hear that his princely son even knew such crude songs. She could not help but roll her eyes. Erfréa sniggered and elbowed Aredhel in a familiar manner that still somewhat amazed the more reserved woman. She had been a member of the royal house of Dol Amroth long enough to not be too surprised by Amrothos' antics, but that didn't prevent her from shaking her head. Arwen wore one of those enigmatic smiles of hers, and she gave Lothíriel's foot a gentle pat.

Soon the men crowded the door, all of them looking like this was the most exciting night of their lives. Lothíriel had, however, eyes only for Éomer. His heavy ceremonial clothes were gone, replaced with a simple green robe. Quickly he joined her in bed, after which the people present drank the final toast for the newly-wed pair. Erfréa winked at Lothíriel as she followed Éowyn out, and at last the room was gloriously silent. Lothíriel let out a breath she had not even noticed she had been holding.

"Finally alone", Éomer commented and turned to look at her. She turned towards him and his arms found their way around her. A sense of perfect shelter and happiness washed over her as she watched the man before her. _Her husband. _

"I thought they would never leave", she whispered and lifted her hand to caress his rough cheek. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh of contentment, and held her a bit tighter. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at her with joy and tenderness.

"You're finally here", he said quietly, and there was wonder in his voice. The time of waiting was over, but it was still hard to grasp.

"Yes", she agreed softly and placed her hands on his chest. It felt warm and solid under her hands and she knew it was something she could always lean on. "And I'm never going to leave you again."

"No one should live without their soul. We belong together", he said plainly, running his calloused fingers through her hair.

"We do", she agreed. "I love you."

"Lothíriel, my love... You are my heart's deepest desire. Always have been. Always will be", he whispered and claimed her lips in a kiss.

Slowly, slowly, the kiss became stronger, more passionate. His fingers travelled on her body, searching and feeling, as if this were the first time he ever touched her... and now there was no secrecy, no prohibition. She was his to touch, his to love for as long as they lived, and no more was there shadows lurking behind their door with murderous intention. This was not the desperate need, originating from their fear of not seeing each other again, or out of needing comfort. This was confident, brave, strong. He would be there when the sun rose and every day after that and never again would he have to sneak away when the sun rose. _This _was _theirs_.

Her nightgown found its way to the floor, and soon his robe accompanied it. His fingers lingered on the scar on her shoulder, left there by an arrow wound she had received on that awful night on the plains. He looked at her gravely, but Lothíriel gave him a reassuring smile. Past was gone, and though scars of old might sometimes come to haunt them both, she knew their love for each other was strong enough to chase away the shadows.

And then he was close to her, and there was nothing parting them anymore: she could feel his skin against hers, burning for her. He looked at her, his eyes blazing yet so loving and he was hers, hers to care for and to keep forever.

The celebration of love and the union of two hearts carried on in the Golden Hall, and music and laughter continued for some hours more. In this room, another celebration was held and it was on their lips, their minds, their hands, their hearts, and when the night began to turn into a bright new morning, Lothíriel finally fell asleep in the arms of her beloved Éomer.

* * *

**A/N: **And finally, the Lion has his Lady. I fear that we are now fast approaching the end, but couple more things need to be said before this story is finished.

This chapter makes me happy for many reasons, not only because Lothíriel and Éomer are finally together and married, but also because of a bit of bonding you saw in the beginning between Aragorn and Éomer. And Éothain got snogged by Erfréa (it seems to me that she'd be the one to make the first move). I'm not sure who precisely is the happiest about that! :D As you can see, Tirithon made one last appearance; I felt we needed to see that he's well off after all. Like he said, he needed to see Lothíriel saved, and I think that was always why he was drawn to her. I believe he's going to be all right after this.

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**1607hannah - **Well, what do you say? Smooches were indeed had! :D

**AA - MamaBirdCat - **Interesting insight! I'm glad to hear you think so. :)

**BrightWatcher - **You're definitely right about that. Of course, she hasn't yet told Éomer, but perhaps we'll still see that...

**UntilNeverDawns - **Thank you so much!

**Talia119 - **That is quite improbable at this point, but one never knows where the story might take you!


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter 3****4**

Saying goodbye to friends and family was just as difficult as Lothíriel had known it would be. Especially difficult it was when Glorfindel took his leave, knowing that his road would take him West and the friendship between him and her would pass into a memory. So, on the morning of his departure, she hugged him for a long while and asked him to give her love to dear old Bilbo and Master Elrond; Glorfindel smiled, kissed her brow and told her she'd be well-remembered in the light of Aman. Then he took his leave and Lothíriel stood watching with her King by her side for a long while, saying her goodbyes in her heart.

Others went their ways as well, and the comings and goings of everyday life replaced the atmosphere of feast in the Golden Hall. Though farewells were bitter-sweet, soon Lothíriel found it impossible to mourn in the middle of her newly-wed happiness. All that she had hoped for had come true and her life was joined with that of Éomer. What more could she ask for?

But one thing still remained unsettled, and that was what had happened on one night of spring by the sea.

Lothíriel knew it would have been for the better for her to speak of it with her husband before their wedding. However, those four days before the celebration had left the two of them with little to no time alone. And the matter of Aradhain was not something to be spoken of in haste or in the presence of others. So, whether it was for better or worse, the conversation that would hopefully put an end to it was left to be had later.

In that situation, perhaps she should have known how it would turn out.

* * *

It was a nightmare, really.

The day that she had arrived to Edoras and he had caught her in his arms, knowing that she'd never leave again, Éomer had thought it was now a time for peace. He had believed the storms had ended and the two of them could finally move on with their lives.

But then, on one night a week after her family had departed for Dol Amroth, Lothíriel had sat him down and told him of the encounter she had had on the shores of her home. He had listened to her story in cold silence, and all the while the stone on his heart had grown heavier.

_She had let Aradhain go. _

At first, he had thought it was some jest. How could she make a choice like that? But then he had seen the look of honesty in her eyes, and he had known she was telling the truth. She really did believe the man who had assaulted her had changed... that somehow, he was deserving of her pity.

Generally, Éomer had found in himself unseen calm and patience since he had found her again. Somehow, her presence and the prospect of a future with her had brought him peace of mind that he had not known before. But now? He was so angry that he actually shouted at her. _Her, _Lothíriel. That had never happened before and actually he had thought it wasn't even possible. Yet shout he did, right until the point where he saw the horror and hurt well in her eyes, and in tears she had fled from him.

That night, he had been been in the middle of such a storm of conflicting feelings of shame and hurt and betrayal that he had actually slept in Firefoot's stall. Well, he had meant to do so, but never got to the sleeping part as a call of help from the western lands came. There had been some Dunlendings attacking the western villages that had only just been restored. Of course he could have left that matter for Erkenbrand, but in the situation waging war had seemed like a perfect idea, and so he had left Edoras on the early hours before dawn. Éothain had given him some very disapproving looks, muttering under his breath that it was poor conduct for him to leave his wife like that, and as soon as they reached Hornburg, Éomer agreed. What kind of a husband did it make him that he'd leave her like this?

Sometimes, he truly needed someone to kick him.

But Lothíriel had let Aradhain go. How was he supposed to just swallow that? The man was a criminal! And being the King of Rohan, what kind of a ruler did it make him that he let men like this captain just flee?

Justice had to be served. How couldn't she see that?

And so he had hardened himself and ridden forward, and never had battle tasted sweeter as it did in his frustration and not knowing what was the right thing.

The rogue Dunlendings were found and dealt with, and it was a week after their departure that the King's Company rode back to Hornburg at sunset. The Lord of the Mark was on the fouler mood than any newly-married man should be, which had of course earned him some unwelcome comments from his men. But it wasn't like he could tell them what it was about, and so he was left fuming to himself and also wondering how on earth he was supposed to fix this. How was he supposed to go home and pretend this was all right? For if he knew himself at all, Éomer was certain that the knowledge of Aradhain roaming free and unpunished could very well eat him alive.

She couldn't have gotten it right, could she? Men did not change – not men like him.

Be it as may, those were the thoughts he had on that evening when he rode with his éored to Hornburg. He had decided they'd spend the night there and depart for Edoras on the morrow... a prospect which scared him as he did not know what he'd find there. One mad moment he had even thought maybe Lothíriel had packed her saddlebags and gone home.

It was some time after their arrival that Lady Léoma approached the young king with a note. Éomer was in the middle of enjoying some supper with Éothain and Erkenbrand – or, his friends were enjoying supper while he sat lost in his thoughts. Though they had been on road and their rations had consisted of simple food riders always took with them when they went on a mission, he found he had little appetite.

"My lord", she said, "I have a message for you. It arrived couple days before and as it was written in Sindarin, I thought maybe it was important."

That had Éomer frowning: he didn't think it was common knowledge that he knew the Elven tongue.

"Who delivered it?" he asked as Léoma passed him the note.

"A man in a green cloak, apparently. It was given to me by one of the guards. I'd have checked if it was nonsense and not bothered you with it, but I could not as I have no knowledge of Sindarin. I must say, I'm just as perplexed as you are, my lord", she answered.

The King grunted non-committally as he opened the message. It took him a moment to decipher the note as it had been some time since he had last used Sindarin... but as the meaning dawned to him, his heart turned dark and heavy.

The letter read:

_My lord,_

_If you'd wish to settle matters between you and myself, I ask you to come and meet me at the Troll's Fist. I will be waiting for you there for a week, and I'd hope you will not keep me waiting for long, lest I lose my nerve and flee as my reason tells me to do. _

_I will come alone and in good faith that you shan't murder me at sight, for it is important that we speak._

_Aradhain_

A curse flew from the King's lips as soon as he had read the message. He grumbled the piece of parchment inside his hands and he shot up on his feet, and all in him urged him to jump on a horse and speed away to meet this villain... and end him for good. But as angry as he was, he could very well remember the last time he had blindly run after Aradhain. If not for his loyal (and swift-footed) captain, he might very well be dead today. So, as frustrated as it made him, he fell down to sit again, resting his pounding head against his knuckles.

"What is it?" Éothain asked carefully. He and Erkenbrand both were staring at the King with concerned faces.

"It's Aradhain!" Éomer was just barely able to growl. "He wants to talk with me!"

"Aradhain? Why would he return here to talk with you?" Éothain asked in confusion.

"Be quiet for a bit, will you? I need to think", said the King with no little amount of weary anger. What was he even supposed to do?

"Explain", demanded his captain in a way people probably shouldn't demand things of their kings, but he was too good a friend to be argued with about that, so Éomer briefly summarised the darned villain's letter. As soon as he had, Éothain's face became an image of dark determination.

"Sire, should I go and call the men? We can ride right away, if you wish", he said, resting his hand on his sword.

The young king considered his captain's words for a long while, and thought what he should do. Granted, he wanted to go and meet Aradhain... but then, should he run into that situation like he had run the last time? Much good that had done back then, really.

The fallen Swan Knight had asked to see him, yet the man must have known what hatred Éomer had for him. In fact, the villain had no way of knowing if he wouldn't drive a spear through him the moment he had a clear shot. _I will come alone and in good faith... _

Was it possible that Lothíriel had gotten it right after all?

"We will ride at first light", he said finally, which had Éothain's eyes widening with shock. Erkenbrand looked almost as surprised.

"I'd have thought you would ride to meet him right away", said Erkenbrand, blinking as he spoke.

"To be honest, I'd like to do that", Éomer admitted. "But I dashed after him unthinkingly once, and I do not believe it would be a good idea to do that again. I need to think of this."

Éothain and Erkenbrand exchanged a glance before turning to look at him again.

"Don't you think it might be a trap? Why would Aradhain want to meet with you?" Éothain asked.

"He's just one man and an outlaw. What trap could he possibly create for me here in my own lands? He sought out Lothíriel and never harmed her, and I imagine we can agree that she was no opponent for him as I am", said the King at length. "I... I wonder if It could be true that this time, he just wishes to talk."

"You think it could be true? That this man has changed?" inquired Erkenbrand, not looking thoroughly convinced yet.

"I wish I knew. But I suppose we will see tomorrow", Éomer said quietly.

It was not a decision he made with a light heart... and there was little sleep to be had that night.

* * *

Troll's Fist was a large rock formation some ten leagues north-east from Helm's Deep. There in the middle of plains stood a huge boulder, almost thrice as tall as Éomer himself. Apparently at some point, someone had thought it looked like a fist protruding from the ground, though the King himself doubted any troll could have been so large as to have a hand of that size. It was also possible for a man to climb on it, and he had once done that long ago, when he had been but a boy. As far as meeting places went, he supposed it was a good choice on Captain Aradhain's part as the place was well-known and one could see it from afar. The man must have heard of it during his stay in the Mark.

He could see the shape of the man sitting on the rock as soon as they began to approach it. He knew Aradhain had meant for this to be a peaceful meeting, but the very sight of him made the anger boil inside the young king, and he was just barely able to hold back that order to take the man down. Instead, he ordered some riders to surround the rock and make sure there was no one else around. Half of his éored quickly spread out to investigate the area and make it secure.

The King himself with the rest of his men rode towards the hill on which the rock rested. As soon as they were on the earshot, Aradhain clumsily climbed up on his feet and lifted a hand as if to welcome them.

"Sire! You finally come. I was already starting to lose my nerve", called the damned man up from the rock.

"Surround the rock. Léohtir, Wíglic – go get him down", Éomer barked to couple of his riders, who readily went on to do his bidding.

"Oh, that is completely unnecessary!" Aradhain shouted, "I will come down in peace and you'll have the pleasure of beheading me right on the spot or whatever it s you do here in Rohan... but only if you would listen to what I have to say. If that doesn't suit you, my lord, I can save you the effort of fetching me down and finding an executioner. If you want me down, I certainly will oblige. I'll even jump down for you, Sire. However, if you'd have a bit of patience for me, I'd ask you to send your men away so we can talk in peace. Afterwards I'll surrender my life to your judgement and you may do with me as you will."

"And why should I listen to anything you want to say?" Éomer asked coldly, glaring up at the villain.

At that, Aradhain's face became soft, gentle even. When he spoke, it was in Sindarin.

"Why, for the sake of your wife, of course", he said, with such fondness in his voice that it could only be genuine. "Please, my lord. For Lothíriel. If you're not going to listen to me, then what does her choice to free me even mean?"

"I'm not so sure it's a good idea to let him talk. He could be plotting something", Éothain said. He too was staring at Aradhain with a frown on his face, and the way he was gripping at his spear nearly had the King thinking his captain might end this conversation before it had even began.

"Oh, don't be stupid, Captain. Do I truly look like a serious threat? I'm barely armed when compared to you lot, I'm missing one arm, and even if I do manage to get myself down from here without breaking my neck, I'm fairly certain that the King would be able to take me down with his eyes closed", Aradhain commented dryly.

"He has a point", Éomer had to agree as he shot a glance at his friend.

"So you're actually going to listen to him?" Éothain asked.

"I must confess, I am curious now", said the King quietly. "I did not think he'd dare to come here again, but here he is... he's actually offering surrender. I may be the king but that doesn't mean I get to kill people without listening to them first."

"Fine", agreed his friend finally. "You have your horn, in case you need us? We'll be on earshot and come to your aid, if need be."

"Of course", Éomer said, and Éothain shot forwards, calling the men to ride with him. What they thought of this development did not show on their faces as they rode, and the thunder of their hooves departed from the Troll's Fist.

As soon as the riders had left, Aradhain began the awkward descent from the top of the rock, and the King could only wonder how he had made his way there in the first place. But that was irrelevant. Eventually, he dismounted and hung his helmet from Firefoot's saddle. Nevertheless, he never let his hand fall from the hilt of his sword, in case this _was _some ruse on Aradhain's part.

After some long moments, the villain's feet finally touched ground and he took some tentative steps towards the young king. The captain could really not have changed more: his hair had grown long, as had his beard, and Éomer felt dark satisfaction when he noticed he had succeeded in broking Aradhain's nose back in Pelargir. Dressed in rags and missing one arm, just like Lothíriel had said, this man did not look like a threat. Slowly and just a bit unwillingly Éomer was starting to see why she had pitied the captain.

"I am thankful for your patience, Sire. I was actually expecting you might use me for target practise as soon as you saw me", said Aradhain with a weak little smile.

"I would have done that, if I did not wish to know just why my wife let you go", Éomer answered coldly as he stared at the man on the front of him. That made Aradhain wince.

"Oh, I see. You're angry, Sire. If you want to be angry at someone, then be angry at me! I'm the one to be blamed for this mess. What Lothíriel did was... well, it was like her. It was a choice she'd make, because there's still some innocence left in her – some need to believe that even someone as horrible as I was could change. I had quite literally dropped on her from the sky when she least expected it. Maybe she'd have chosen something else if she had the time. But in that situation, she decided to do the merciful thing. She gave me the chance I did not deserve", he explained. Like before, his voice became so fond when he talked about Lothíriel.

"Then why did you return?" Éomer demanded to know. Aradhain frowned at that and remained silent for a long while before he spoke.

"I wasn't going to. Originally, I meant to be the coward and run so far away that not even a whisper of me would ever reach your ear again. But as I made my way westward, I began to realise that even if our meeting had given her what she needed, you my lord would not agree with her. It would disturb you so much, to know that I am alive and walking free somewhere. It would trouble you to no end. And if you're troubled, that probably means she'll be too. That's what I figured out eventually, though it took a while for me – all this is kind of new to me", Aradhain said, scratching at the back of his neck.

"And so you came back", Éomer said, frowning now. If this was some show, it was a good one. He took pride in the fact that he wasn't usually so easily deceived... but this man had done it before. "Just so that you could _untrouble _me."

"Make no mistake, my lord. I'm not doing this for you. It's for _her. _It's all for her", Aradhain said and a large smile came to his face. "I owe her a happy ending."

"Even if it meant I'd kill you? You'd die for her?" asked the King, narrowing his eyes. But that just made the ragged man lift his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't you die for her, then? I'd think that's what we both can understand. She gave me this chance, so it's only fair I pay her back", he said. Then he frowned too, "I'd just ask you not to be angry with her. Maybe it was a mistake for her to let me go. But I see she did tell you of what she did, and that must have required a lot of courage, considering how much you must despise me. I don't know if you realise it yourself but you can be very intimidating, Sire."

He fell silent then, and Éomer was about to speak, but Aradhain continued: "Maybe she doesn't see justice the way you do. You're king, after all, so of course you see it differently. You _have _to see it differently, and you're not wrong in that. But she's just a gentle little princess with a kind and merciful heart. _Was, _at least. Maybe she's starting to understand now that she's the Queen. Don't blame her for it, though. No one should be blamed for having pity."

"Of course you'd say that, being the one who benefited so much from her pitying you."

"You're not wrong, Sire..." said the captain with a sigh.

"Do you have any idea of what you did to her? And her family?" Éomer asked. He had meant to ask this with much more force, but somehow it was difficult finding the fury he'd have needed. Nevertheless, a look of shame came to the captain's face.

"I don't suppose I'll ever really understand", Aradhain allowed quietly. "But I know I hurt her. I know. And because of that I won't ask for forgiveness, but surrender my life into your hands, so that I may be treated accordingly."

The King stared at the ragged man on the front of him, and despite everything he had thought before, he still felt his resolve grumbling. He had made his plans to take this man down and introduce him to some justice in the form of steel between his ribs. But now... he could see why Lothíriel had chosen to let this man go. Aradhain was right in saying it was the kind of choice she'd make.

She had pitied Aradhain... and Éomer found he did too, now that he saw what had become of this man.

But he was the King of Rohan, and the justice had to be served. And there would be no peace for him until that was done.

"I'd just ask you not to tell her about this. She let me go in good faith. She thought I'd go and redeem myself somehow, and I'd like her to believe that still. If she learns I was killed anyway..." said the captain and shook his head, but his words had the young king glaring at him again.

"You'd have me lie to my wife for your sake, then?" he asked sharply, which brought a look of confusion and surprise to the other man's face.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I didn't realise that before. I'm still a bit new to this... this... _honesty", _Aradhain said, frowning as he spoke. "I wish I had the right answer for you, but I don't. She let me go, but... it would hurt her, wouldn't it? Knowing that I met my death anyway, despite her pity? I don't suppose it was an easy choice for her, to let me go like she did."

"Oh, you can trust it'll hurt her", Éomer snapped angrily. Why did this man still have to haunt them? Why couldn't this just be over already? "That is all you have ever done to her! And now your shadow will only fall on her again, and it will be a damned miracle if she'll ever be at peace with this!"

Aradhain flinched at that. He seemed to somehow grow smaller as he stood there, and a miserable look came to his face.

"This really isn't working out like it should, is it? I should just have turned myself in when I had the chance. Or maybe throw myself into the sea, I don't know. I should never have sought her out... but I just wanted to see her for one last time. And that would never have happened if I had surrendered myself to your or King Elessar's hands. You can understand that, my lord? The wish to see her again?" he said sorrowfully. He shook his head, "Trying to be a better person is so _exhausting _and confusing, and I just don't... but I know I want her to be free."

"Then you should never have gone to see her. You should have done the right thing, before you had the chance of bringing this upon her", said the King, his voice unforgiving. And yet he could see what this man meant – he could sympathise with the need to see Lothíriel... how many times had he harboured similar thoughts? How many times during the past year had he thought of racing down to Dol Amroth, just to look upon her face? But he could not think of that now.

"I see", Aradhain said quietly, lowering his gaze. "There isn't really any way around this, is there?"

"There is not", Éomer answered sternly, hardening himself for what had to happen. He'd have to take this man to Edoras, no matter what pain it would bring to his wife to see the face of the captain again... and to know that her pity was wasted on him. But as soon as he thought that, the scar-faced man pulled out a dagger, which almost had the young king producing his own sword. But Aradhain never moved to threaten him. Rather, he held the blade in his hand, and said: "Consider it done, Sire. This is me, making my own fate... and hopefully setting you free."

And with that, he buried the blade into his stomach.

His feet gave in under him and he fell. Despite himself Éomer dashed forward but it was too late then: the blade of the dagger was already deep in the captain's guts, and he knew what that kind of wound meant, if he had hit organs. And the captain was a trained warrior. He'd have known where to place his blade.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he growled as he dropped on his knees beside Aradhain. He pulled out the dagger and pushed the rags from way to see the damage. Indeed, it looked like a fatal wound.

For some reason, the fallen captain _smiled. _

"_I _can make this decision more easily than you can. It brings me very little misery, I find now. I'll save you the pain of having to choose, Sire, and having to bring me to your home. The justice is served", said Aradhain. He cringed in pain and gasped, turning his smile into a grimace. "I'm my own executioner. How funny. I'd never have expected that."

"You damned man", Éomer growled. "Now you're also going to rob me of the pleasure of killing you?"

"You'd have wanted to do that, my lord? Even knowing what your wife might have thought?" Aradhain asked, wincing again. "Valar, it _hurts. _Stop looking at me like that, will you! I'm doing you a favour. You don't have lift the blade or say the word yourself. And your wife is safe. I'm freeing you of myself, permanently. Now you don't have to make that choice... you needn't take responsibility for my fate, nor do you have to do your duty as a king. I die as a despised man with nothing more than the rags that I wear, and the only woman I ever could have loved would loathe the sight of me... Do you think that's punishment enough?"

"Aye", said the King at length. As he looked down on the ashen face of the man who had almost robbed his beloved from him, he did not feel hatred... just some kind of resignation. "I suppose it is what we will have to content ourselves."

"Just... tell her I'm sorry. Tell her", Aradhain gasped. "And tell her I _did _becomea better man because of _her. _I kept my promise. I did my best to redeem myself. For her. For..."

"For Lothíriel", Éomer said quietly, watching the light of life waning in the captain's good eye. The mention of her name brought one last smile to his face, and with a breath of it on his lips, he died.

* * *

When Éomer rode home that evening, he was half expecting not to see his wife there on the stone terrace. After the horrible way he had left her, he'd have fully understood if she didn't want to see him now.

Yet there she was, Erfréa by her one side and Léah on the other... her pale face bore the signs of sleepless nights and he regretted his abysmal behaviour even more. If she forgave him, he'd never do anything like that again.

And so he dismounted swiftly, hurried up the stairs, and caught her in his arms. When she was there, he realised: the love he had for this woman was worth more than any hatred he could ever feel. As he murmured his apologies, she sobbed quietly into his hair and held on to him, and he knew that despite all he was forgiven.

As soon as the King had regained control over his voice, he glanced over his shoulder at Éothain, and said, "I need to speak of something important with my lady wife. I trust you take care of everything?"

"Of course, Sire", said the captain, and the royal couple made their way inside and to their chambers where they could speak in peace.

When Éomer had gotten rid of his armour, he sat down with his wife; she did not look as troubled as before, but her face was still serious.

"Are you still angry with me?" she asked quietly, and he took her hand in his. Precious woman! She actually thought _she _was the one who had wronged the other the worst.

"I'm not, beloved", he told her, squeezing her fingers gently, "and I was wrong to react like that in the first place."

"You weren't, my dear. You had every right to feel angry and hurt", she said quietly. "Perhaps I did make a mistake... I just had to _let go. _I had to be free of him, and it was the only thing I could do then."

"And you're free now, dearest wife. I.. I think we both are", said the King, and then, slowly at first, he began to tell her of what had happened at the Troll's Fist.

Lothíriel listened to him quietly and it seemed to him that there were tears in her eyes, but she didn't look unhappy. Once he had come to the end of his story, she moved closer to him and embraced him long and tight.

"Are you unhappy?" he asked at length, needing to know what she thought.

"No... no. All I wanted was him to be gone from our lives, and now he truly is. I just... I wonder if it all was in vain. Letting him go, I mean", she whispered, settling into her King's lap.

"I don't know. I'd be a wise man if I could say... but I do think your pity redeemed him more or less. He was a better man because of you, and he was glad to sacrifice his own life for you. And that is something I can sympathise with", he told her. It made her smile, and she wiped the tears from her eyes. Then his wife leant to kiss him and as her arms snaked their way about his neck and he pulled her against himself, he knew they were ready to move on – ready to live.

* * *

And live they did.

Waking up by his side every morning, the first thing she would hear being his soft voice when his arms snaked their way around her and he would press his bearded face against the side of her head as he sleepily sought her lips for a kiss... it was exquisite. It was all she had dreamt of, and seeing him there at the beginning of new day, she was reminded of how fortunate she was for having _this._

They both had some nightmares at times, but in each others' arms demons of darkness were swiftly chased away. The first time she woke up to hear his troubled mumbling and restless tossing she was even a bit surprised to find him looking so _vulnerable. _She had always seen him as such a strong man, but now she saw there were still many things to be learnt about him. In turn, he'd be there when she woke up from a haunting dream, and he'd hold her close and murmur gently into her hair until she fell asleep again.

Lothíriel had been worried of how she would fare as the Queen, but she soon realized it was not a difficult task to run Meduseld. She knew that should he ride to war, as would probably happen some time in future, she would have to lead the Mark during his absence, but their first year together was peaceful and she came to realise she could always count on the help of his advisers when Éomer himself was gone. With Léah and Erféa by her side, she felt there was nothing they could not do together, and each day she felt more like becoming one of this people.

Sometimes, being the Queen required other things: she'd be the one to welcome the guests to Meduseld and serve them the first drinks. She'd stand by the King's side when he gave his audiences and executed justice. Lothíriel knew her husband would not have chosen this path in life, and becoming the King of Rohan had not been what he had hoped for. But when she observed him, she saw that Éomer was a good king – and the one his people needed. It often had him working to the late night until she would wrap her arms around him from behind and tell him to finish for the day; he'd lean his head back against her stomach and she would feel his body relaxing against hers. Some days he would have to ride away and the Golden Hall would feel strangely empty without his presence, but when his escort was spotted approaching Edoras, Lothíriel would rush to the stone terrace and wait for him. He rode up to Meduseld and then practically flew to meet her, and he'd take her in his arms and hold her for a long while.

By nights, they sat together by fire before going to bed. They talked of the day and work they had done. Often Lothíriel sat working over some needlework. He watched her with his affection shining in his eyes, and often they found themselves talking about the matters of the realm. Listening to her opinions and remarks, Éomer was more than happy to include her in ruling the country, and he was especially thankful for whatever insight she could give to the southern parts of Gondor. Sometimes he was troubled by his many concerns as a king, and she did her best to help him, to give him some release and comfort under his burdens.

Lothíriel had always thought of him as strong, but there were times when it was her who needed to be the strong one, especially when he would return after a raid by Dunlendings or some small wandering orc band, his eyes dark and weary for the things he had seen. She'd take him in her arms and hold him close, and once they were in bed, he'd lay his head on her chest and she'd feel a shiver pass through his body as she gently caressed his golden mane, until finally she could feel his tension dissolve. He'd lift his head and kiss her and tell there was nothing he couldn't do as long as she was here.

Sometimes, there were shadows in his eyes, born from his many worries and hardships of being the king. But Lothíriel quickly found she was rather good at chasing those shadows away, and as the years passed, the shadows were there less often, until it was like very being was illuminated through and through.

* * *

Prince Elboron, Éowyn and Faramir's son, was born late next spring. Lothíriel herself was already expecting her first child by then, but it was still so early that she could make the trip without imposing any danger to herself or the child.

Elboron inherited his father's strong features, but his hair was fair like his mother's. Both of parents were beaming with happiness and pride as they presented the child to its uncle and aunt. As Éomer held the first-born of his sister he remembered how he had once said he would pick his heir amongst Éowyn's children; no doubt her son would have been a good king for the Mark, but in the end Éomer was happy things had not gone that way.

As for Prince Eldarion, who came several years after, he was as dark as Elboron was fair. In the little prince's face, Lothíriel thought she saw something that reminded her of Master Elrond, who had sailed West with the Ring-bearers. But there was also much in him that reminded her of King Elessar. The father and the son shared the mood and the mind, and in Eldarion, the nobility of Kings of Númenor still lingered.

As for Lothíriel's brothers, Elphir had one son and a daughter after Sídhadonnen, and Aredhel had her hands full of work with her children and running the palace of Dol Amroth. Erchirion and even Amrothos found wives from amongst the Gondorian ladies of noble blood. As for her father, Prince Imrahil grew old with grace and happiness, surrounded by his grandchildren, whom he loved to spoil against the better wishes of their parents. Amrothos' wedding with Lady Aewennen was an occasion to remember: Lothíriel had never thought she'd dance again to Rohirric songs in Gondor... or that she'd ever get to share so many midnight swims with her own husband. No wonder that she again became pregnant after that trip.

Erfréa eventually agreed to marry Éothain, although he had to woo and court her for an entire year before she would consent to marriage. Yet in the end Lothíriel did not remember when she had last seen Erfréa shining with such happiness as she did on the day she married the dazed and overjoyed captain who, even on the day of their wedding, could not quite believe his luck.

And as young Sídhadonnen grew up and began to understand more of the world, the young girl often rode north to visit her aunt the Queen, and Lothíriel would tell stories of Imladris, Master Elrond, Glorfindel and of dear old Bilbo. The Halfling would likely have been very pleased to know that his stories were well remembered and passed on to the new generation.

It had been true, what Lothíriel and Aredhel had spoken that one day back in Dol Amroth: the time of grand legends was over, and even though there were still some stories of battles to be told, it was time for lighter tales. With soft words, they told of life and love.

* * *

With Lothíriel's first pregnancy, Éomer seemed to reach entirely new stage of making a fuss about it. She was not allowed to exhaust herself in any manner and she even had to give up her riding trips with him or with Erfréa. She was quite healthy though, and Master Flód assured the King that the child and mother would be fine.

Little Prince Elfwine was born on a winter night as a snowstorm raged outside. The childbirth was fortunately quite easy for Lothíriel and she found herself weeping with happiness when the newborn baby was finally laid in her arms. There lay her son, the physical proof of her love for her King, and for all their dreams for not being in vain. Soon Éomer rushed in and there was not many a sight that touched her as deeply as him holding their son in his arms. His expression of bliss was something she kept in her heart for years to come.

Éomer was a good father. Whenever their children ran up to him, even when he was having a meeting with his advisers in the great hall, he would always have time for them. He would catch one or two children in his arms, lifting them high, and the laughter filled Meduseld like it had not in long time. He taught them how to ride, how to climb, and how to make their mother smile. One of Lothíriel's favourite things was watching him with their children. There seemed to be no end to how absorbed Éomer could be just with telling stories, chasing his sons and acting as an ogre to their princes, and carrying his daughters on his shoulders.

They were the dark-eyed children of her dreams. Elfwine, Elfgifu, Éomund and little Celairiel. Elfgifu and Éomund inherited their father's fair complexion, whereas Elfwine grew up to be the spitting image of Imrahil (a fact that never ceased to please the old prince), and Celairiel's grey eyes and dark hair reminded Lothíriel of her own Gondorian kin – it was mainly for that reason that the youngest of four children was named after the Queen's late mother. In many things Elfwine was like his father, though he had calmness about him that Éomer had lacked during his years of youth. One day, he'd be a king as good as his father and carry the line of Eorl with pride and honour. The knowledge that the Mark would be in good hands after him gave Éomer peace even when he had to ride to war. And when Elfgifu married Eldarion, both royal couples were reassured: the bonds between Gondor and Rohan were once more strengthened by love and family.

* * *

Remarkable kings were often remembered with epithets to pay homage to their rule. The first king of the Third Line came to be known as Éomer Éadig, which means Éomer the Blessed. And the epithet was more than well-deserved, for during Éomer's rule, the Mark flourished. Generous harvests were reaped from the fields, the villages grew and children were born, new trading relations were established, and the wounds of war were healed. The horse herds multiplied and some said that during those years were born the best horses that anyone had ever seen in the Mark. Furthermore, less and less was seen of orcs, even though the King's Marshals would still guard the outer reaches of the Riddermark. Every day it seemed that orcs, once so feared, were becoming less like an actual threat and more like a scary story to frighten unruly children.

Even though the years were marked mostly by peace, there were still some battles to be fought. A final campaign against the Dunlendings was made, and many times Éomer rode to war with his good friend Aragorn, and the sound of the thousands hooves and Rohirric horns blowing became renowned in the stories of the men in east. The friendship and the alliance of the two kings was made into a stuff of legends. Where Elessar rode, there Lion of Rohan went as well, and together they were victorious.

Though she knew her husband was one of the finest warriors of his time, Lothíriel never quite stopped worrying for her husband when he rode to Aragorn's aid. Many a time did she watch him ride east, her children about her as she tried to reassure both herself and them that he would return. And each time, he'd keep his promise and come back to his family. Even on his later years, Éomer King remained a warrior as good as his reputation. The alliance between Gondor and Rohan flourished all their years, and the two countries were joined by their friendship and the blood they had shed for each other.

As for Éomer Éadig's wife, she was sometimes called Lothíriel Sídhadonnen, already during her lifetime. It was not only because the story of the King and Queen's romance became quite popular on their later years, but also because the deep love between the monarch and his wife seemed to reflect the turning of tides: the fall of Sauron, the beginning of a new era. Peace had truly been born again into the world.

She _was _Lothiriel and Sidhadonnen, both the spring and the winter. What was hard to carry alone became easier to accept when she lived with him, and his love helped her make peace with the shadow she had walked in. And so, when they called her Sidhadonnen, she did not feel regret; pain was turned into a peace of mind.

* * *

What of Éomer and Lothíriel, then? What of the two people behind the crowns and titles? They knew they would have been very happy even if they had lived in the smallest of mountain cottages – a love like theirs did not need grand frames to flourish and endure.

Lothíriel herself saw that her way had always led to these plains of green and gold. Sometimes the shadows of the forest had made her blind and she had not been able to see the road as she stumbled forward, nor had she been able to hear his voice calling her, but at last she had left behind the darkness and uncertainty, only to join him on a shared path under the wind and sun of the plains of Mark. And he would extend his arm and lift her up as they walked together, just like she would help him stand if he were about to fall.

The road went ever on, and its destination was future, life and love, spent together like they had dreamed – their hearts' desire.

**_End of Part 4_**

* * *

**A/B: **And now we are almost at the end. Only the epilogue remains, and then it is time to finish this story. I'll have to revise the epilogue for a bit, but it's almost done already.

I know I made implications before that Aradhain would not be seen again, but eventually I realised that was wrong. Well, you could say that Éomer kicked the door in and demanded to know what the heck I thought I was doing. I understood he would not be happy with how the things had turned out... in fact, he'd be so upset that he reacts just as he see him doing here: riding into a battle without even saying goodbye to her; he is, after all, still a young and a hot-tempered man. And Aradhain has him boiling more than the most. The matter had to be settled for good... and so he met with Aradhain for one last time. And this is an ending where, I feel, Éomer can both respect and understand Lothíriel's choice, and also make his own peace and feel that justice has been served.

I considered splitting this chapter but eventually decided against it; I suppose it's okay that a chapter where the last remaining threads are tied together is longer than some others. I hope that I did succeed in tying everything up, but if I've missed something I'd of course be glad to hear about it. I considered writing a proper wedding for Erfréa and Éothain too, but then I decided that would have just been repeating after the one we already had and it would only have unnecessarily prolonged this story. Let us just say that it was a merry occasion for the both of them, and despite the age gap, the two of them are very happy together. If I should say, I think Erfréa is very fond of making jokes about the advantages of Éothain's age - such as experience. But that's another tale altogether!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Talia119 - **Yes, there will be an epilogue! I'm not sure if there will be much more of tying loose ends, unless something comes up. But I feel a story such as this does demand for an epilogue, and also for the symmetry as there is a prologue too.

**1607hannah - **Hope that takes care of the whole issue of revenge. :)

**Always and a day Love - **Glad to hear that! I hope you'll enjoy my other works just as much!

**Glory Bee - **I feel the same! It's surprisingly hard to let go of this piece... though perhaps I should have expected to feel like this. I've invested a lot into this story, not just in work but also emotionally.


	36. The Last Song of Éadig and Sídhadonnen

_To live in this world  
you must be able  
to do three things:  
to love what is mortal;  
to hold it  
against your bones knowing  
your own life depends on it;  
and, when the time comes to let it go,  
to let it go._

_― Mary Oliver_

* * *

**Epilogue: The Last Song of Éadig and Sídhadonnen**

_63, Fourth Age of the Sun_

King Éomer Éadig, Lord of the Mark, the Lion of Rohan, was not scared of death.

Though he came to be the King of the Riddermark and a good part of his life was spent in building and mending his kingdom, he was still first and foremost a warrior.

And the first lesson of a warrior is that of accepting death: the day they had given him a sword they had also told him that any morrow could be his last. Any patrol could prove fatal, and any battle might end – for him, at least – with his death. It was something he learned to accept, and so he was not fearful when he rode to wars. In fact, he even thought it probable that he should lose his life on the battlefield. For the days of his youth were filled with struggle, and it was in the prime of his manhood that the War of the Ring was fought.

Sometimes, it had been so dark, and the future had seemed bleak. Spots of golden light had lingered here and there, passing just by his fingertips, and he had thought they were not meant for him... until the day he rode to Rivendell and found again that which had been lost.

The Lion of Rohan battled and survived, and he came to know so much more life than he had known death. As time went by and his last fight was left victorious in the years of the warlike past, he began to understand that it was not by sword that he would die.

There was so much to live for, and the years of his life were truly Blessed.

* * *

As there is time and place for all things to flourish and to live, so does come the time to let go.

Lothíriel never really learned to dress properly for the chilly winters of Rohan. Often she was preoccupied by her duties as the Queen, and she just plain forgot that she was not wearing her cloak or that her gown was not warm enough for trudging outside. When she had been young, she had conquered her colds easily. But on her old age, she was not so strong anymore.

In the end, it was all so fast, like a candle blown out. On one night of late February, less than two weeks after she had gotten ill, she asked him to hold her. And he did, gathering her in his arms like he had done so many, many time. The weight of her was so light, and she looked frail – deep down he had known she was fading and it scared him so much, and he wanted to ask her to stay for a little while more. But her face was peaceful and her smile gentle, and he realised it was far more terrifying for him than it was for her. His beloved Queen was not afraid at all and he knew he had to let her go. She lay there in his arms and brushed his cheek with her fingers and told him time and again how she loved him... as if she had known this was the end. Then she fell asleep and he held her until the morning, though he knew she was gone.

They said that Éomer King was never the same after his wife the Queen died. Well, it was likely that they were right in saying that. 60 years of life and sun they had shared together, and when it came to an end, it was as if a fleeting dream of spring had passed. But she was such an integral part of him... she was necessary, almost like air. The threads of their lives had been woven together so tightly that they had come to support each other – they had _become _each other – and when one thread was cut away, the other could not endure alone. When she was gone, he knew it would not be long until he'd leave too.

She was, after all, the Queen of his heart and the wife of his soul.

And so his friends, those of them who were still alive, were called to meet him one last time. Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin from the Shire, ever-youthful Aragorn and Arwen, Éowyn and Faramir, and even Amrothos along with Sídhadonnen and Alphros. So many faces were gone now, yet still some remained... but the next time they'd gather together would not be in this world.

* * *

_It is the blood of Númenor, _Éomer thought to himself as he looked at Aragorn. Though his friend's hair had turned silver and there were laugh lines about his bright grey eyes, he was not a picture of old age. His back was still straight, his arm was strong, and his step was light as any young man's. He'd ride into many a battle yet, side by side with Elfwine.

As for Éomer himself... he knew he looked his age, and he felt like it too. Probably thanks to the blood of Morwen Steelsheen, he had been strong and energetic even on his later years. But no one was like Aragorn, the last of the Númenorians.

Years ago, when he had looked in mirror and first realised his youth was fading, Éomer had thought of Aragorn's long life as a blessing. But now, at the edge of night, he was not so sure of that anymore. His friend would have a long life, yes... but he'd also live to see all his friends in grave.

_He has his Queen, though. I'd have endured all if I had mine too._

"What are you thinking of so intently, brother?" Aragorn asked; they were strolling in the garden behind Meduseld, the one _she _had restored and was now lovingly looked after by others. Sometimes, Éomer found himself taking support from his friend's arm. As always, Aragorn was happy to provide it. And there was no shame in that.

"Just... remembering", Éomer said. He smiled as he cast a look at his fellow king. "Where did all the years go, Aragorn? I thought we had plenty of time still."

"We lived those years, my friend. Oh yes, we have lived", said the older man, and his smile was bittersweet.

"Yes", Éomer agreed. He stopped and looked at Aragorn, briefly reminiscing all the things they had achieved together, all the wars they had fought and won... "It has been a good life. We have seen much, and done even more. We can be proud."

"Indeed. And... the world will be very different when you are gone, you who they should call Oathkeeper. I've asked much of you and received even more, and I am thankful. A man could not hope for a better friend... and a king could not dream of a finer ally", said Elessar, and his grey eyes shone. There was love there, the kind that only two friends could share.

"And I'd do it all again, weather every storm... I'd give anything if I could ride by your side just for one last time, but I fear I am too old for that now. There is only one ride left for me now", Éomer answered quietly, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder. He fell silent for a moment, until he spoke again: "I'd ask of you one more thing, Aragorn. My family... watch over them when I'm gone."

Gently, Aragorn squeezed Éomer's shoulder.

"I will, brother. You can go in peace, for the House of Eorl will endure."

* * *

Little Elfhild looked so much like _her _that he knew one day, the likeness of Lothíriel Queen would walk these lands once more. Indeed, the girl was almost the spitting image of his wife when she had been couple years younger than Elfhild was now. Curiously enough, and despite all his weariness and the growing wish in heart to join _her, _he felt sad for knowing he wouldn't be there to see the days of Elfhild's youth.

Nevertheless, it was not wondered about among the members of his household why the old King so much liked to have his youngest great-grandchild sit on his lap or play about his feet these days. Truth be told, he saw _her _in all his children and grandchildren, in the shades of their eyes or hair, or in their height and build, or in their smiles and small expressions that would momentarily bring her back. But none other resembled her as much as Elfhild did.

The years had filled the Golden Hall with so much laughter, the sound of running feet, and shouts and joy, that he was certain somewhere in the ceiling some echo of it all must still be bouncing about. Somehow, the past was getting brighter and brighter.

And the present...

The present was a world without Lothíriel... a place he had hoped he wouldn't have to see again.

His thoughts were then interrupted, as Elfhild looked up at him. She had sat just by his feet, playing with two of her favourite toys: a wooden horse and a swan. Those two objects had passed from hands to hands, from Elfwine to his siblings and then his children, and now to the daughter of his son Eadric. Lately, she had been talking about how much she'd like to go and see the city by the sea. He knew his wife would have liked to make that journey and look upon the city of her birth for one last time...

"Why are you crying, Grandfather Éomer?" asked Elfhild softly. He smiled at the child and shifted on his seat, feeling the weariness deep in his bones. _It's not long now. Wait for me, Lothíriel. _

"It's all right, little one", he told her gently. The little girl rose up on her feet, holding the wooden swan and horse to her chest. She climbed up to his lap and settled there; she gave him the horse, and the familiar rough lines of the parting gift he had given to his Princess so many years ago were ever so familiar under his fingers. When Elfhild looked at him again, she was so... so like _her. _

"I miss her too, Grandfather", she said softly.

"Aye", he answered and planted a kiss on his great-granddaughter's forehead.

"What are you two scheming here? Should I call Elfwine and tell him to muster the Rohirrim?" asked the voice of Éowyn, his dear sister. She had aged beautifully and still retained her graceful posture even on her old age. The Princess of Ithilien was a legend in every sense, and dearly beloved by her two peoples.

"Now, let us not get ahead of ourselves, sister", said Éomer and turned to look at her with a smile. He hoped she wouldn't see what Elfhild had seen, but of course that was a foolish wish. Éowyn always saw, always knew. After all, she was his sister.

She came to his side and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. No words were needed between the two children of Éomund. Somehow, in the simple touch of his sister's hand, there was comfort. Just like there had been in the hands of their mother.

He looked up at her, and he smiled again. Who would have thought that they'd both have so little, yet come to receive so much?

There were tears in Éowyn's eyes now too, but then she blinked them away and grinned at Elfhild.

"You really like that swan, don't you?" she asked the girl, who grinned back at her great-grandaunt.

"I do, Lady Éowyn! Swans are really beautiful. I'd like to have them here in Edoras too", Elfhild answered. Éowyn smiled.

"Éomer, why don't you tell her about that time when a swan came to Edoras and turned out to be a beautiful Queen?" she asked. That had Elfhild's eyes widening with excitement, and she grabbed her great-grandfather's hand.

"Please, tell me about the swan!" she exclaimed. Éomer kissed the top of her head and settled back on his throne.

"Very well, little one", he agreed. Éowyn took a seat beside them, and both the Lady and the girl wore faces of curiosity. Éomer cleared his throat, and he began: "Many years ago, when the shadows fell deep on the land of the Mark, a swan clad in blue and silver came at dusk to Aldburg..."

* * *

It was Elfgifu who found him at last.

His poor girl looked like she had jumped straight from the bed and tossed on the first gown she had found before rushing out. He knew he had done wrong in venturing out like this, but Éomer had wished for the solitude: a rare thing for a king. And he knew very well that his strength, something he once could always trust on, was ailing him. Soon he would not be able to do this anymore. So, a while before sunrise he had sent his guards at the door to fetch him a large barrel of ale; the two had probably thought the King was starting to lose it in his old age and in his grief for his beloved wife, but that didn't matter. It wasn't ale he was interested in, but the moment of their distraction... which he could use to slip out. Though his step was not light as it used to be, he was still capable of some sneaking about.

He knew how it must have turned out. The guards would have returned with ale and found him gone. And now everyone was looking him back in Meduseld, and no doubt they thought he had decided to crawl into some hole and die... but Elfgifu knew better, like she always did. Out of his children, Elfgifu understood him the best.

"Father! What on earth were you thinking, leaving your rooms like that?" she exclaimed at the sight of him. Éomer gave his daughter a helpless little smile.

"I just came to visit your mother", he answered softly, gesturing at the gravestone. _She _rested there among the other deceased members of the royal house, not far from Théodred.

His daughter's face became softer at that, and quietly she came to stand beside him. She looked down on her mother's grave, but he was looking at her. She had his golden hair, and also his formidable height. In fact, before she had married Prince Eldarion, people had often said she was the tallest woman in all of the Mark. But in her face, there was something that reminded Éomer of his own mother, especially when she was lost in her thoughts and her expression softened like that. They had named her Elfgifu, which meant "gift from the elves"... it had been deliberate, to honour the gift Master Elrond had given them in saving _her _life.

"You miss her, don't you?" said his daughter softly. It wasn't really a question.

"More than you can imagine. She was... she was more than just the love of my life. She was my soul. And it is hard to live without it, when it is gone", he answered plainly.

His daughter looked at him, her eyes sorrowing. _She knew. _

"You'll be gone soon, too. Won't you, Father?" she asked softly.

Éomer did not know other way to answer that than just nod. Elfgifu let out a wavering breath and her eyes filled with tears. Then she wrapped her arms about him and hugged him tight.

"I'd ask you to stay, Father, but... I understand. It's no secret how much you loved Mother, and I know you must go. It's just... the world without the two of you seems so wrong. I suppose we all thought you would live forever", she whispered into her father's shoulder. He held her for a while, wishing there had been some way to comfort her.

He gently pushed her back a little bit, so that he could see her face.

"I am old, dear daughter. I've had a full life, I have lived, laughed, and cried. I've had my fill. Now I'm tired... so tired. Don't despair for me, Elfgifu. When I go, I'll go with a light heart and unregretful", Éomer told his daughter and gave her a small smile. "I just don't know how to live without your mother. I hope you forgive me that."

"Father, I..." she started, but then stopped to search for words. At last, she smiled through her tears. "Tell her I love her when you are reunited, will you?"

"That I will, daughter", he promised and kissed her forehead. "Now, I believe we should get back before Elfwine musters the Rohirrim to look for us."

Elfgifu wiped away her tears, linked her arm with that of her father, and together they made their way back to Meduseld.

* * *

Elfwine the Fair, they called his son. He could see why it was, for his heir was the image of princes and kings of old. And he was not just fair in looks, but also in mind.

Éomer was proud of his son. _Their _son. He'd make a good king and the Mark would be in safe hands, and the King they called Blessed could sleep peacefully under a mound of Simbelmynë. Elfwine was his legacy. And through him, his children and his children's children, the House of Eorl would endure, long after the life and the love of Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen had passed into a song and become a tale of yore.

"Is all well, Father?" asked his son that night, after they had bid goodnight to the guests and Elfwine had seen him to bed. Often these nights, Éomer found his son sitting by his bedside for some time before going to bed himself, and they'd speak of many things: of years gone by, the wars they had ridden together, of the Mark and their plans for future of the kingdom... sometimes, Éomer would fall asleep listening to his son speak, and when he was in that place between dream and awakeness, it was like in Elfwine's voice there was an echo of _her. _

"Of course, son. Why do you ask?" Éomer asked back and watched his son. Indeed there were often moments when he reminded the King so much of his wife.

"You were quiet tonight", Elfwine said softly and studied the aged face of his father.

"I suppose I am just tired. I keep forgetting I'm not as young as I used to be", said the King and settled more comfortably against the pillows. At that, his son rolled his eyes.

"Quite the opposite, Father. I don't think you'll ever really get old", he told him, which made Éomer laugh.

"How do you think I've lived this long?" he commented, and his son smiled. But then Elfwine's face became serious.

"You won't, though. You'll never get old, Father", he said softly. His words had Éomer lifting his eyebrows.

"Why is that, son?" he inquired.

"Because you're the last legendary king of the Mark. In future, they'll sing songs of Eorl the Young, Helm Hammerhand, Théoden the Renewed, and Éomer the Blessed. But not of Elfwine", the prince said. His voice was not bitter, though – just plain and declarative. Then he smiled again, "The Mark won't remember you as you are now. You will be recalled as the Lion of Rohan, the legend and a hero who walked among the men, and when they sing of you, they will sing of a tall warrior king."

"I never thought of it that way", Éomer confessed. "I just did what needed to be done."

"I know that, Father. But I don't think many would have been able to do the same", his son argued. The King looked at his heir; though he was his father, he was also the King... and he had lived in an extraordinary age, when a bit of enchantment of yore still lingered in the mortal world. Times such as his were bound to cast a light of legends over anyone. Perhaps it was understandable that sometimes even his son could not see through that golden shine of hard past turned glorious by the memory of their people.

"Hmm. The Children of Men can do many things, sometimes beyond their own expectation. I think there's a bit of a hero in everyone... if one dares to take that road. Have faith in your kin, my son", Éomer told him. Then he smiled. "You'll do fine, when your turn comes. We are very proud of you."

Then, as if in afterthought, he pulled of the ring from his third finger, where it had been ever since _she _had given it to him. He took his son's hand and placed Lothíriel's ring on Elfwine's palm.

"Here. Take this, my son. I'd think your mother would like you to have it", he said quietly. Elfwine's eyes widened with surprise.

"Father, I can't take this!" he argued.

"Please, son. Take it and wear it, like I've worn it all the days of my life since she gave it to me. I... I believe it would be right if this was passed down our line, in the memory and honour of the woman who did not only make me king in so many ways, but also made me feel like one", Éomer said, smiling at his son. "If I'm a legend, it is only because of _her_."

The prince smiled as his hand closed around the ring and suddenly, there were tears in his eyes. He patted the King's shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Father", Elfwine said and turned to leave, but then out of impulse, Éomer caught his hand. His son looked back at him, a quizzical look on his face.

"Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?"

* * *

His son stayed with him past midnight, listening to him tell stories of years past. They talked of _her, _too. Éomer rarely spoke of her like that, so Elfwine was eager to stay and listen. In a way, it almost made them feel like she was still here. But finally, the King felt weariness settling in and his son squeezed his hand for the last time. Then the Prince bid him good night and left the chamber, and silence fell over the room.

Like he did every night, Éomer briefly buried his face in _her _pillow. He had not allowed the servants to take it away, as if she would return any moment and lay herself there, where her place was beside him. The scent of her hair was still instilled to the pillow and he breathed it in... if he closed his eyes, he could see how she looked like when she slept.

Then he settled back on his own side and let out a long sigh. _He was so tired... _

"Good night, Lothíriel."

* * *

_It is easier than falling asleep. _

_At first, he thinks he is dreaming. The light around him is grey as he speeds forward and he can't see the sun behind the clouds. There is the scent of rain in the air and true enough, he can feel the gentle patter of it, though it doesn't seem like it drenches him. _

_He is riding over the plains of the Mark, all alone. When he looks at the horse that carries him he notices it is none other than his faithful Firefoot... and his hands grasping the reins are not the hands of an old man. Rather, they look like they did when he was younger. _

_And he feels strong, the way he was in the glory of his manhood. All exhaustion and aches of old age are gone. Long time ago, it was a well-known feeling... but now he is surprised, for he has already forgotten how it was. It is so strange and familiar at the same time that he wants to laugh. _

_He rides forward, somehow knowing that his direction is West... though he does not precisely know where he is going. But it does not matter. It has been a while since he has been able to ride like this and he has missed it. For the moment, he just enjoys the feel of wind and rain on his face as he races. Even Firefoot does not show signs of wearing down. _

_But then it changes. The grey rain curtain pulls back and he is not riding anymore, but flying, floating like he were weightless. Light becomes bright and he is momentarily blinded. And then... he can see it. Everything turns into silver glass. _

_There is light on the waves as they roll to the white shores. Beyond the shore, there is a beautiful green country, and the wind carries sweet scents from the forests and gardens of that land. Somewhere far, he thinks he can hear soft singing voices, and the sea carries a song so devastatingly beautiful that he feels his very core tremble for it._

_The air __bears__ him and now he can see something like a harbour... only, it is not really a proper harbour at all, like _she_ would probably tell him if she were here. There are no buildings __in sight__ – only a dock built of white stone, and delicate little ship waiting to set sail. There it is that he lands, and he can feel the stone under his bare feet. Somehow, it does not feel cold. He looks around and notes that it is not sunrise yet, but it isn't dark either: there is a strange light about him but he can't tell its origin. _

_Éomer looks at the ship and wonders: what now? Is he supposed to step into that ship? And if he does, where will it take him? It is made of light wood and it looks like the ships his aunt used to tell stories of... the elven ships that would pass from the western shores of Middle-earth and then vanish with the last light of day. _

_But his thoughts are interrupted then, for there is a voice, a voice so beloved and he has missed it so much, and it speaks: "Hello, Éomer."_

_And he turns around and there she is, the companion of his heart and soul! Her hair, not white like the last time he saw her but once more midnight black, falls down to her waist... her face, young as it once was... and her eyes, sparkling and so full of love for him. She is dressed in plain silver gown and she looks more beautiful than he has ever seen. She smiles and spreads her arms in an invitation, and he does not need more encouragement, for he has longed for her touch so much that the absence of it has become agony. _

_But now that agony is ended. _

"_Lothíriel!" he exclaims; he is in the front of her with one long leap, and then she is in his arms once again, where she belongs. _

_It is a long while they do not speak, but when she finally does, she smiles. _

"_They told me I should go already. One should not linger here, between the two places. But I said I could not go without you. After all, I did tell you that I would not let you face the unknown alone. I made a promise", she says and her smile widens. "Yet I feared that I might have to wait long for you. You were so strong in life... I thought maybe you would live to be a hundred years old."_

_That makes him snort. _

"_Had you lived with me, I no doubt would have endured a thousand years", he says, tracing her face with his fingers. Seeing her here, he feels mended... he feels complete again. "But if you go, I go too."_

"_I am glad", she whispers and he kisses her. Then she looks at him more seriously. "How are the children?" _

"_They are well. They miss you, my love. Elfgifu sends you her love... she misses you very much. And Elfwine will become a grandfather again soon. Our little Elsunn is with child, she thinks it's going to be a girl. She says she's going to name the child after you", he tells her and she smiles brilliantly._

"_Elsunn will make a fine mother. I am glad to hear we will be remembered. And sweet Elfgifu... I wish I could tell her that I love her too. But she knows that, in her heart", Lothíriel says, her voice gentle. He nods at her words. _

"_It has been so lonely without you, min léofe. You left quite a hole in all our lives... but none so big than one in my heart", he says. Lothíriel hems quietly in agreement and takes his hand in her own. _

"_It's almost time. We should go", she says softly, casting a look at the ship. _

"_And where will it take us?" he asks. Not that he is afraid. After all, they are together. _

_His question makes her smile again; it is a brilliant smile, and serene, and bereft of all sorrows of the world. In it, he sees _her_, and all the times of her life: the child he saved from the waves, the girl whose letters brought light into the middle of many concerns, a young woman who bewitched him and made him hers, his wife and the mother of his children, the constant and the light – his mate in all ways. _

"_Home", she simply answers, and that one word makes his heart swell with warmth and peace. _Home_. Then she takes a step towards the ship, "Come, my beloved king. It is time for us to move on."_

_But then he looks back, to the way he has come from... and it is almost as if he could see through time and space, through the grey rain curtain, or perhaps he is just remembering... and there is the land of his forefathers and the land of his children. Edoras, the Riddermark, and his people, and the land he has lived for and fought for. Suddenly, it is a hard and bittersweet thing, to leave that all behind..._

_She knows what he is thinking – during their years together, she seems to have perfected that skill. She turns his face so that their eyes meet, and her gaze is gentle._

"_Do not fear for them. Our children and grandchildren will do just fine, and Elfwine will be a good king. It's their time and turn now. You have done your part, Éomer King. Now come and rest with me. House of Eorl will endure", she says softly. _

_She is right. He smiles, squeezes her hand, and _lets go_. He is free._

_Lothíriel answers his smile with one of her own and pulls at his hand. He follows her and they step into the ship; in doing so, he feels something like freedom... he is free of the world, of its cares and sorrows, and he understands: there is no grief in letting go._

_And the wind picks up and the sail billows, and soon the white dock falls back as they begin their one last journey together. He joins her at the bow of the ship, winding his arms about her form. She leans against him and in silence, they look forwards._

_The sun is soaring now, and the green land is left behind. Éomer rests his cheek on Lothíriel's hair and watches the light grow around them with new day, and he feels wonder as they sail together into the radiance of rising morrow. _

_** THE END.  
**_

* * *

**A/N: **And here we are, at the story's end. I must admit is harder to let go of this story than I expected, and yes, I did sob a little bit when I edited this. That may or may not have something to do that I was also listening to Hans Zimmer's song _Time _while I was editing this epilogue. That piece has all the feelings of loving and losing and the bittersweetness that, I hope, are also present in this final part of _Heart's Desire._

I'm not sure if what I wrote of Mannish afterlife, of seeing the Undying Lands and then sailing away from the circles of the world, is completely canon. But when I tried to think of a different way about it, it felt wrong. At least this version feels like the right one to me and I couldn't find it in myself to change that. And I'm a romantic in the sense that I wanted to see them reunited in afterlife... and then moving on together. Lothíriel did promise not to let him face the unknown alone, after all.

It has been quite a ride, and I have enjoyed it much. Like I said before, I've put a lot of creative and emotional force into this story and I wonder if I'll ever be able to write anything like this again... I acknowledge it is not a perfect story, probably not even my best one, but... well, it was the one I had to write. Checking back, I've noticed many things I'll have to fix. So I believe I'll come back to editing this some time soon, perhaps when I need a bit of a break from _House of Sun. _

Let me thank you, dear readers, for one last time! All the comments are appreciated. Special thanks to **Talia119 **and **BrightWatcher** for all your insights - they have been of more help than you know.

Thank you once more, and see you again in the next installment of _House of Sun! _


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